[Illustration: INSTINCTIVELY EACH KNEW THE OTHER FOR A FOE. [Page 25]] "FIREBRAND" TREVISON BYCHARLES ALDEN SELTZER AUTHOR OFTHE VENGENCE OF JEFFERSON GAWNE, THE BOSS OF THE LAZY Y, THE RANGE BOSS, Etc. ILLUSTRATED BYP. V. E. IVORY GROSSET & DUNLAPPUBLISHERS--NEW YORK Made in the United States of America CopyrightA. C. McClurg & Co. 1918 Published September, 1918 Copyrighted in Great Britain CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I The Rider of the Black Horse 1 II In Which Hatred is Born 10 III Beating a Good Man 30 IV The Long Arm of Power 42 V A Telegram and a Girl 53 VI A Judicial Puppet 71 VII Two Letters Go East 79 VIII The Chaos of Creation 82 IX Straight Talk 93 X The Spirit of Manti 100 XI For the "Kiddies" 109 XII Exposed to the Sunlight 113 XIII Another Letter 130 XIV A Rumble Of War 137 XV A Mutual Benefit Association 146 XVI Wherein A Woman Lies 151 XVII Justice Vs. Law 155 XVIII Law Invoked and Defied 169 XIX A Woman Rides in Vain 183 XX And Rides Again--in Vain 192 XXI Another Woman Rides 209 XXII A Man Errs--and Pays 221 XXIII First Principles 234 XXIV Another Woman Lies 253 XXV In the Dark 264 XXVI The Ashes 273 XXVII The Fight 290 XXVIII The Dregs 310 XXIX The Calm 321 ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE Instinctively each knew the other for a foe. Frontispiece "You are going to marry me--some day. That'swhat I think of you!" 97 "You men are blind. Corrigan is a crook whowill stop at nothing. " 283 "FIREBRAND" TREVISON CHAPTER I THE RIDER OF THE BLACK HORSE The trail from the Diamond K broke around the base of a low hill dottedthickly with scraggly oak and fir, then stretched away, straight andalmost level (except for a deep cut where the railroad gang and a steamshovel were eating into a hundred-foot hill) to Manti. A month before, there had been no Manti, and six months before that there had been norailroad. The railroad and the town had followed in the wake of a party ofkhaki-clad men that had made reasonably fast progress through the country, leaving a trail of wooden stakes and little stone monuments behind. Previously, an agent of the railroad company had bartered through, securing a right-of-way. The fruit of the efforts of these men was a darkgash on a sun-scorched level, and two lines of steel laid as straight asskilled eye and transit could make them--and Manti. Manti could not be overlooked, for the town obtruded upon the vision fromwhere "Brand" Trevison was jogging along the Diamond K trail astride hisbig black horse, Nigger. Manti dominated the landscape, not because it wasbig and imposing, but because it was new. Manti's buildings werescattered--there had been no need for crowding; but from a distance--fromTrevison's distance, for instance, which was a matter of three miles orso--Manti looked insignificant, toy-like, in comparison with the vastworld on whose bosom it sat. Manti seemed futile, ridiculous. But Trevisonknew that the coming of the railroad marked an epoch, that the two thin, thread-like lines of steel were the tentacles of the man-made monster thathad gripped the East--business reaching out for newer fields--and thatManti, futile and ridiculous as it seemed, was an outpost fortified byunlimited resource. Manti had come to stay. And the cattle business was going, Trevison knew. The railroad company hadbuilt corrals at Manti, and Trevison knew they would be needed for severalyears to come. But he could foresee the day when they would be replaced bybuilding and factory. Business was extending its lines, cattle mustretreat before them. Several homesteaders had already appeared in thecountry, erecting fences around their claims. One of the homesteaders, when Trevison had come upon him a few days before, had impertinentlyinquired why Trevison did not fence the Diamond K range. Fence in fivethousand acres! It had never been done in this section of the country. Trevison had permitted himself a cold grin, and had kept his answer tohimself. The incident was not important, but it foreshadowed a day when adozen like inquiries would make the building of a range fence imperative. Trevison already felt the irritation of congestion--the presence of thehomesteaders nettled him. He frowned as he rode. A year ago he would havesold out--cattle, land and buildings--at the market price. But at thattime he had not known the value of his land. Now-- He kicked Nigger in the ribs and straightened in the saddle, grinning. "She's not for sale now--eh, Nig?" Five minutes later he halted the black at the crest of the big railroadcut and looked over the edge appraisingly. Fifty laborers--directed by amammoth personage in dirty blue overalls, boots, woolen shirt, and awide-brimmed felt hat, and with a face undeniably Irish--were workingfrenziedly to keep pace with the huge steam shovel, whose iron jaws werebiting into the earth with a regularity that must have been discouragingto its human rivals. A train of flat-cars, almost loaded, was on the trackof the cut, and a dinky engine attached to them wheezed steam from asafety valve, the engineer and fireman lounging out of the cab window, lazily watching. Patrick Carson, the personage--construction boss, good-natured, keen, observant--was leaning against a boulder at the side of the track, talkingto the engineer at the instant Trevison appeared at the top of the cut. Heglanced up, his eyes lighting. "There's thot mon, Trevison, ag'in, Murph', " he said to the engineer. "Bedad, he's a pitcher now, ain't he?" An imposing figure Trevison certainly was. Horse and rider were outlinedagainst the sky, and in the dear light every muscle and feature of man andbeast stood but boldly and distinctly. The big black horse was a powerfulbrute, tall and rangy, with speed and courage showing plainly in contour, nostril and eye; and with head and ears erect he stood motionless, statuesque, heroic. His rider seemed to have been proportioned to fit thehorse. Tall, slender of waist, broad of shoulder, straight, he sat looselyin the saddle looking at the scene below him, unconscious of theadmiration he excited. Poetic fancies stirred Carson vaguely. "Luk at 'im now, Murph; wid his big hat, his leather pants, his spurs, an'the rist av his conthraptions! There's a divvil av a conthrast here now, if ye'd only glimpse it. This civillyzation, ripraysinted be thisrailroad, don't seem to fit, noways. It's like it had butted into apitcher book! Ain't he a darlin'?" "I've never seen him up close, " said Murphy. There was none of Carson'senthusiasm in his voice. "It's always seemed to me that a felluh who rigshimself out like that has got a lot of show-off stuff in him. " "The first time I clapped me eyes on wan av them cowbhoys I thought so, too, " said Carson. "That was back on the other section. But I seen somanny av them rigged out like thot, thot I comminced to askin' questions. It's a domned purposeful rig, mon. The big felt hat is a daisy for keepin'off the sun, an' that gaudy bit av a rag around his neck keeps the sun andsand from blisterin' the skin. The leather pants is to keep his legs fromgettin' clawed up be the thorns av prickly pear an' what not, which he'sgot to ride through, an' the high heels is to keep his feet from slippin'through the stirrups. A kid c'ud tell ye what he carries the young cannonfor, an' why he wears it so low on his hip. Ye've nivver seen him upclose, eh Murph'? Well, I'm askin' him down so's ye can have a good lookat him. " He stepped back from the boulder and waved a hand at Trevison, shouting: "Make it a real visit, bhoy!" "I'll be pullin' out of here before he can get around, " said Murphy, noting that the last car was almost filled. Carson chuckled. "Hold tight, " he warned; "he's comin'. " The side of the cut was steep, and the soft sand and clay did not make asecure footing. But when the black received the signal from Trevison hedid not hesitate. Crouching like a great cat at the edge, he slid hisforelegs over until his hoofs sank deep into the side of the cut. Thenwith a gentle lurch he drew his hind legs after him, and an instant laterwas gingerly descending, his rider leaning far back in the saddle, thereins held loosely in his hands. It looked simple enough, the way the black was doing it, and Trevison'sdemeanor indicated perfect trust in the animal and in his own skill as arider. But the laborers ceased working and watched, grouped, gesturing;the staccato coughing of the steam shovel died gaspingly, as the engineershut off the engine and stood, rooted, his mouth agape; the fireman in thedinky engine held tightly to the cab window. Murphy muttered inastonishment, and Carson chuckled admiringly, for the descent was a fullhundred feet, and there were few men in the railroad gang that would havedared to risk the wall on foot. The black had gained impetus with distance. A third of the slope had beencovered when he struck some loose earth that shifted with his weight andcarried his hind quarters to one side and off balance. Instantly the riderswung his body toward the wall of the cut, twisted in the saddle and swungthe black squarely around, the animal scrambling like a cat. The blackstood, braced, facing the crest of the cut, while the dislodged earth, preceded by pebbles and small boulders, clattered down behind him. Then, under the urge of Trevison's gentle hand and voice, the black wheeledagain and faced the descent. "I wouldn't ride a horse down there for the damned railroad!" declaredMurphy. "Thrue for ye--ye c'udn't, " grinned Carson. "A man could ride anywhere with a horse like that!" remarked the fireman, fascinated. "Ye'd have brought a cropper in that slide, an' the road wud be minus acoal-heaver!" said Carson. "Wud ye luk at him now!" The black was coming down, forelegs asprawl, his hind quarters sliding inthe sand. Twice as his fore-hoofs struck some slight obstruction his hindquarters lifted and he stood, balanced, on his forelegs, and each timeTrevison averted the impending catastrophe by throwing himself far back inthe saddle and slapping the black's hips sharply. "He's a circus rider!" shouted Carson, gleefully. "He's got the coolesthead of anny mon I iver seen! He's a divvil, thot mon!" The descent was spectacular, but it was apparent that Trevison caredlittle for its effect upon his audience, for as he struck the level andcame riding toward Carson and the others, there was no sign ofself-consciousness in his face or manner. He smiled faintly, though, as acheer from the laborers reached his ears. In the next instant he hadhalted Nigger near the dinky engine, and Carson was introducing him to theengineer and fireman. Looking at Trevison "close up, " Murphy was constrained to mentally labelhim "some man, " and he regretted his deprecatory words of a few minutesbefore. Plainly, there was no "show-off stuff" in Trevison. His feat ofriding down the wall of the cut had not been performed to impress anyone;the look of reckless abandon in the otherwise serene eyes that heldMurphy's steadily, convinced the engineer that the man had merelyresponded to a dare-devil impulse. There was something in Trevison'sappearance that suggested an entire disregard of fear. The engineer hadwatched the face of a brother of his craft one night when the latter hadbeen driving a roaring monster down a grade at record-breaking speed intoa wall of rain-soaked darkness out of which might thunder at any instantanother roaring monster, coming in the opposite direction. There had beena mistake in orders, and the train was running against time to make aswitch. Several times during the ride Murphy had caught a glimpse of theengineer's face, and the eyes had haunted him since--defiance of death, contempt of consequences, had been reflected in them. Trevison's eyesreminded him of the engineer's. But in Trevison's eyes was an addedexpression--cold humor. The engineer of Murphy's recollection would havemet death dauntlessly. Trevison would meet it no less dauntlessly, butwould mock at it. Murphy looked long and admiringly at him, noting thedeep chest, the heavy muscles, the blue-black sheen of his freshly-shavenchin and jaw under the tan; the firm, mobile mouth, the aggressive set tohis head. Murphy set his age down at twenty-seven or twenty-eight. Murphywas sixty himself--the age that appreciates, and secretly envies, thevirility of youth. Carson was complimenting Trevison on his descent of thewall of the cut. "You're a daisy rider, me bhoy!" "Nigger's a clever horse, " smiled Trevison. Murphy was pleased that he wasgiving the animal the credit. "Nigger's well trained. He's wiser than somemen. Tricky, too. " He patted the sleek, muscular neck of the beast and theanimal whinnied gently. "He's careful of his master, though, " laughedTrevison. "A man pulled a gun on me, right after I'd got Nigger. He hadthe drop, and he meant business. I had to shoot. To disconcert the fellow, I had to jump Nigger against him. Since then, whenever Nigger sees a gunin anyone's hand, he thinks it's time to bowl that man over. There's noholding him. He won't even stand for anyone pulling a handkerchief out ofa hip pocket when I'm on him. " Trevison grinned. "Try it, Carson, but getthat boulder between you and Nigger before you do. " "I don't like the look av the baste's eye, " declined the Irishman. "Iwudn't doubt ye're worrud for the wurrold. But he wudn't jump a mon divvila bit quicker than his master, or I'm a sinner!" Trevison's eyes twinkled. "You're a good construction boss, Carson. ButI'm glad to see that you're getting more considerate. " "Av what?" "Of your men. " Trevison glanced back; he had looked once before, out ofthe tail of his eye. The laborers were idling in the cut, enjoying thebrief rest, taking advantage of Carson's momentary dereliction, for thelast car had been filled. "I'll be rayported yet, begob!" Carson waved his hands, and the laborers dove for the flat-cars. When thelast man was aboard, the engine coughed and moved slowly away. Carsonclimbed into the engine-cab, with a shout: "So-long bhoy!" to Trevison. The latter held Nigger with a firm rein, for the animal was dancing at thenoise made by the engine, and as the cars filed past him, running fasternow, the laborers grinned at him and respectfully raised their hats. Forthey had come from one of the Latin countries of Europe, and for them, inthe person of this heroic figure of a man who had ridden his horse downthe steep wall of the cut, was romance. CHAPTER II IN WHICH HATRED IS BORN For some persons romance dwells in the new and the unusual, and for otherpersons it dwells not at all. Certain of Rosalind Benham's friends wouldhave been able to see nothing but the crudities and squalor of Manti, viewing it as Miss Benham did, from one of the windows of her father'sprivate car, which early that morning had been shunted upon a switch atthe outskirts of town. Those friends would have seen nothing but a newtown of weird and picturesque buildings, with more saloons than seemed tobe needed in view of the noticeable lack of citizens. They would haveshuddered at the dust-windrowed street, the litter of refuse, the dismallonesomeness, the forlornness, the utter isolation, the desolation. Thosefriends would have failed to note the vast, silent reaches of green-brownplain that stretched and yawned into aching distances; the wonderfullyblue and cloudless sky that covered it; they would have overlooked thetimber groves that spread here and there over the face of the land, withtheir lure of mystery. No thoughts of the bigness of this country wouldhave crept in upon them--except as they might have been reminded of thedreary distance from the glitter and the tinsel of the East. Themountains, distant and shining, would have meant nothing to them; thestrong, pungent aroma of the sage might have nauseated them. But Miss Benham had caught her first glimpse of Manti and the surroundingcountry from a window of her berth in the car that morning just at dawn, and she loved it. She had lain for some time cuddled up in her bed, watching the sun rise over the distant mountains, and the breath of thesage, sweeping into the half-opened window, had carried with it somethingstronger--the lure of a virgin country. Aunt Agatha Benham, chaperon, forty--maiden lady from choice--variousuncharitable persons hinted humorously of pursued eligibles--foundRosalind gazing ecstatically out of the berth window when she stirred andawoke shortly after nine. Agatha climbed out of her berth and sat on itsedge, yawning sleepily. "This is Manti, I suppose, " she said acridly, shoving the curtain asideand looking out of the window. "We should consider ourselves fortunate notto have had an adventure with Indians or outlaws. We have _that_ to bethankful for, at least. " Agatha's sarcasm failed to penetrate the armor of Rosalind's unconcern--asAgatha's sarcasms always did. Agatha occupied a place in Rosalind'saffections, but not in her scheme of enjoyment. Since she _must_ bechaperoned, Agatha was acceptable to her. But that did not mean that shemade a confidante of Agatha. For Agatha was looking at the world throughthe eyes of Forty, and the vision of Twenty is somewhat more romantic. "Whatever your father thought of in permitting you to come out here is amystery to me, " pursued Agatha severely, as she fussed with her hair. "Itwas like him, though, to go to all this trouble--for me--merely to satisfyyour curiosity about the country. I presume we shall be returningshortly. " "Don't be impatient, Aunty, " said the girl, still gazing out of thewindow. "I intend to stretch my legs before I return. " "Mercy!" gasped Agatha; "such language! This barbaric country has affectedyou already, my dear. Legs!" She summoned horror into her expression, butit was lost on Rosalind, who still gazed out of the window. Indeed, from acertain light in the girl's eyes it might be adduced that she took somedelight in shocking Agatha. "I shall stay here quite some time, I think, " said Rosalind. "Daddy saidthere was no hurry; that he might come out here in a month, himself. And Ihave been dying to get away from the petty conventionalities of the East. I am going to be absolutely human for a while, Aunty. I am going to 'roughit'--that is, as much as one can rough it when one is domiciled in aprivate car. I am going to get a horse and have a look at the country. AndAunty--" here the girl's voice came chokingly, as though some deep emotionagitated her "--I am going to ride 'straddle'!" She did not look to see whether Agatha had survived this second shock--butAgatha had survived many such shocks. It was only when, after a silence ofseveral minutes, Agatha spoke again, that the girl seemed to rememberthere was anybody in the compartment with her. Agatha's voice was ladenwith contempt: "Well, I don't know what you see in this outlandish place to compensatefor what you miss at home. " The girl did not look around. "A man on a black horse, Aunty, " she said. "He has passed here twice. I have never seen such a horse. I don'tremember to have ever seen a man quite like the rider. He lookspositively--er--_heroish_! He is built like a Roman gladiator, he ridesthe black horse as though he had been sculptured on it, and his head has aset that makes one feel he has a mind of his own. He has furnished me withthe only thrill that I have felt since we left New York!" "He hasn't seen _you_!" said Agatha, coldly; "of course you made sure of_that_?" The girl looked mischievously at the older woman. She ran her fingersthrough her hair--brown and vigorous-looking--then shaded her eyes withher hands and gazed at her reflection in a mirror near by. In deshabilleshe looked fresh and bewitching. She had looked like a radiant goddess to"Brand" Trevison, when he had accidentally caught a glimpse of her face atthe window while she had been watching him. He had not known that the ladyhad just awakened from her beauty sleep. He would have sworn that sheneeded no beauty sleep. And he had deliberately ridden past the car again, hoping to get another glimpse of her. The girl smiled. "I am not so positive about that, Aunty. Let us not be prudish. If he sawme, he made no sign, and therefore he is a gentleman. " She looked out ofthe window and smiled again. "There he is now, Aunty!" It was Agatha who parted the curtains, this time. The horseman's face wastoward the window, and he saw her. An expression of puzzled astonishmentglowed in his eyes, superseded quickly by disappointment, whereat Rosalindgiggled softly and hid her tousled head in a pillow. "The impertinent brute! Rosalind, he dared to look directly at me, and Iam sure he would have winked at me in another instant! A gentleman!" shesaid, coldly. "Don't be severe, Aunty. I'm sure he is a gentleman, for all hiscuriosity. See--there he is, riding away without so much as lookingback!" Half an hour later the two women entered the dining-room just as a big, rather heavy-featured, but handsome man, came through the opposite door. He greeted both ladies effusively, and smilingly looked at his watch. "You over-slept this morning, ladies--don't you think? It's after ten. I've been rummaging around town, getting acquainted. It's rather anunfinished place, after the East. But in time--" He made a gesture, perhaps a silent prophecy that one day Manti would out-strip New York, andbowed the ladies to seats at table, talking while the colored waiter movedobsequiously about them. "I thought at first that your father was over-enthusiastic about Manti, Miss Benham, " he continued. "But the more I see of it the firmer becomesmy conviction that your father was right. There are tremendouspossibilities for growth. Even now it is a rather fertile country. Weshall make it hum, once the railroad and the dam are completed. It is alogical site for a town--there is no other within a hundred miles in anydirection. " "And you are to anticipate the town's growth--isn't that it, Mr. Corrigan?" "You put it very comprehensively, Miss Benham; but perhaps it would bebetter to say that I am the advance agent of prosperity--that soundsrather less mercenary. We must not allow the impression to get abroad thatmere money is to be the motive power behind our efforts. " "But money-making is the real motive, after all?" said Miss Benham, dryly. "I submit there are several driving forces in life, and that money-makingis not the least compelling of them. " "The other forces?" It seemed to Corrigan that Miss Benham's face was veryserious. But Agatha, who knew Rosalind better than Corrigan knew her, wasaware that the girl was merely demurely sarcastic. "Love and hatred are next, " he said, slowly. "You would place money-making before love?" Rosalind bantered. "Money adds the proper flavor to love, " laughed Corrigan. The laugh wasladen with subtle significance and he looked straight at the girl, a deepfire slumbering in his eyes. "Yes, " he said slowly, "money-making is agreat passion. I have it. But I can hate, and love. And when I do either, it will be strongly. And then--" Agatha cleared her throat impatiently. Corrigan colored slightly, and MissBenham smothered something, artfully directing the conversation into lesspersonal channels: "You are going to build manufactories, organize banks, build municipalpower-houses, speculate in real estate, and such things, I suppose?" "And build a dam. We already have a bank here, Miss Benham. " "Will father be interested in those things?" "Silently. You understand, that being president of the railroad, yourfather must keep in the background. The actual promoting of theseenterprises will be done by me. " Miss Benham looked dreamily out of the window. Then she turned to Corriganand gazed at him meditatively, though the expression in her eyes was soobviously impersonal that it chilled any amorous emotion that Corriganmight have felt. "I suppose you are right, " she said. "It must be thrilling to feel aconscious power over the destiny of a community, to direct its progress, to manage it, and--er--figuratively to grab industries by their--" Shelooked slyly at Agatha "--lower extremities and shake the dollars out ofthem. Yes, " she added, with a wistful glance through the window; "thatmust be more exciting than being merely in love. " Agatha again followed Rosalind's gaze and saw the black horse standing infront of a store. She frowned, and observed stiffly: "It seems to me that the people in these small places--such as Manti--arenot capable of managing the large enterprises that Mr. Corrigan speaksof. " She looked at Rosalind, and the girl knew that she was deprecatingthe rider of the black horse. Rosalind smiled sweetly. "Oh, I am sure there must be _some_ intelligent persons among them!" "As a rule, " stated Corrigan, dogmatically, "the first citizens of anytown are an uncouth and worthless set. " "The Four Hundred would take exception to that!" laughed Rosalind. Corrigan laughed with her. "You know what I mean, of course. Take Manti, for instance. Or any new western town. The lowest elements of society arerepresented; most of the people are very ignorant and criminal. " The girl looked sharply at Corrigan, though he was not aware of theglance. Was there a secret understanding between Corrigan and Agatha? HadCorrigan also some knowledge of the rider's pilgrimages past the carwindow? Both had maligned the rider. But the girl had seen intelligence onthe face of the rider, and something in the set of his head had told herthat he was not a criminal. And despite his picturesque rigging, and theatmosphere of the great waste places that seemed to envelop him, he hadmade a deeper impression on her than had Corrigan, darkly handsome, well-groomed, a polished product of polite convention and breeding, whomher father wanted her to marry. "Well, " she said, looking at the black horse; "I intend to observe Manti'scitizens more closely before attempting to express an opinion. " Half an hour later, in response to Corrigan's invitation, Rosalind waswalking down Manti's one street, Corrigan beside her. Corrigan had donnedkhaki clothing, a broad, felt hat, boots, neckerchief. But in spite of thechange of garments there was a poise, an atmosphere about him, that hintedstrongly of the graces of civilization. Rosalind felt a flash of pride inhim. He was big, masterful, fascinating. Manti seemed to be fraudulent, farcical, upon closer inspection. For onething, its crudeness was more glaring, and its unpainted board frontslooked flimsy, transient. Compared to the substantial buildings of theEast, Manti's structures were hovels. Here was the primitive town in thefirst flush of its creation. Miss Benham did not laugh, for a mentalpicture rose before her--a bit of wild New England coast, a lowering sky, a group of Old-world pilgrims shivering around a blazing fire in the open, a ship in the offing. That also was a band of first citizens; that pictureand the one made by Manti typified the spirit of America. There were perhaps twenty buildings. Corrigan took her into several ofthem. But, she noted, he did not take her into the store in front of whichwas the black horse. She was introduced to several of the proprietors. Twice she overheard parts of the conversation carried on between Corriganand the proprietors. In each case the conversation was the same: "Do you own this property?" "The building. " "Who owns the land?" "A company in New York. " Corrigan introduced himself as the manager of the company, and spoke oferecting an office. The two men spoke about their "leases. " The latterseemed to have been limited to two months. "See me before your lease expires, " she heard Corrigan tell the men. "Does the railroad own the town site?" asked Rosalind as they emerged fromthe last store. "Yes. And leases are going to be more valuable presently. " "You don't mean that you are going to extort money from them--after theyhave gone to the expense of erecting buildings?" His smile was pleasant. "They will be treated with the utmostconsideration, Miss Benham. " He ushered her into the bank. Like the other buildings, the bank was offrame construction. Its only resemblance to a bank was in the huge safethat stood in the rear of the room, and a heavy wire netting behind whichran a counter. Some chairs and a desk were behind the counter, and at thedesk sat a man of probably forty, who got up at the entrance of hisvisitors and approached them, grinning and holding out a hand toCorrigan. "So you're here at last, Jeff, " he said. "I saw the car on the switch thismorning. The show will open pretty soon now, eh?" He looked inquiringly atRosalind, and Corrigan presented her. She heard the man's name, "Mr. Crofton Braman, " softly spoken by her escort, and she acknowledged theintroduction formally and walked to the door, where she stood looking outinto the street. Braman repelled her--she did not know why. A certain crafty gleam of hiseyes, perhaps, strangely blended with a bold intentness as he had lookedat her; a too effusive manner; a smoothly ingratiating smile--theseevidences of character somehow made her link him with schemes and plots. She did not reflect long over Braman. Across the street she saw the riderof the black horse standing beside the animal at a hitching rail in frontof the store that Corrigan had passed without entering. Viewed from thisdistance, the rider's face was more distinct, and she saw that he wasgood-looking--quite as good-looking as Corrigan, though of a differenttype. Standing, he did not seem to be so tall as Corrigan, nor was hequite so bulky. But he was lithe and powerful, and in his movements, as heunhitched the black horse, threw the reins over its head and patted itsneck, was an ease and grace that made Rosalind's eyes sparkle withadmiration. The rider seemed to be in no hurry to mount his horse. The girl wascertain that twice as he patted the animal's neck he stole glances at her, and a stain appeared in her cheeks, for she remembered the car window. And then she heard a voice greet the rider. A man came out of the door ofone of the saloons, glanced at the rider and raised his voice, joyously: "Well, if it ain't ol' 'Brand'! Where in hell you been keepin' yourself? Iain't seen you for a week!" Friendship was speaking here, and the girl's heart leaped in sympathy. Shewatched with a smile as the other man reached the rider's side and wrunghis hand warmly. Such effusiveness would have been thought hypocritical inthe East; humanness was always frowned upon. But what pleased the girlmost was this evidence that the rider was well liked. Additional evidenceon this point collected quickly. It came from several doors, in the shapesof other men who had heard the first man's shout, and presently the riderwas surrounded by many friends. The girl was deeply interested. She forgot Braman, Corrigan--forgot thatshe was standing in the doorway of the bank. She was seeing humanitystripped of conventionalities; these people were not governed by theintimidating regard for public opinion that so effectively stifled warmimpulses among the persons she knew. She heard another man call to him, and she found herself saying: "'Brand'!What an odd name!" But it seemed to fit him; he was of a type that onesees rarely--clean, big, athletic, virile, magnetic. His personalitydominated the group; upon him interest centered heavily. Nor did hispopularity appear to destroy his poise or make him self-conscious. Thegirl watched closely for signs of that. Had he shown the slightest traceof self-worship she would have lost interest in him. He appeared to be atrifle embarrassed, and that made him doubly attractive to her. Hebantered gayly with the men, and several times his replies to some quipconvulsed the others. And then while she dreamily watched him, she heard several voices insistthat he "show Nigger off. " He demurred, and when they again insisted, hespoke lowly to them, and she felt their concentrated gaze upon her. Sheknew that he had declined to "show Nigger off" because of her presence. "Nigger, " she guessed, was his horse. She secretly hoped he would overcomehis prejudice, for she loved the big black, and was certain that anyperformance he participated in would be well worth seeing. So, in order toinfluence the rider she turned her back, pretending not to be interested. But when she heard exclamations of satisfaction from the group of men shewheeled again, to see that the rider had mounted and was sitting in thesaddle, grinning at a man who had produced a harmonica and was rubbing iton a sleeve of his shirt, preparatory to placing it to his lips. The rider had gone too far now to back out, and Rosalind watched him infrank curiosity. And in the next instant, when the strains of theharmonica smote the still morning air, Nigger began to prance. What followed reminded the girl of a scene in the ring of a circus. Thehorse, proud, dignified, began to pace slowly to the time of theaccompanying music, executing difficult steps that must have tried thepatience of both animal and trainer during the teaching period; the rider, lithe, alert, proud also, smiling his pleasure. Rosalind stood there long, watching. It was a clever exhibition, and shefound herself wondering about the rider. Had he always lived in the West? The animal performed a dozen feats of the circus arena, and the girl wasso deeply interested in him that she did not observe Corrigan when heemerged from the bank, stepped down into the street and stood watching therider. She noticed him though, when the black, forced to her side of thestreet through the necessity of executing a turn, passed close to theeasterner. And then, with something of a shock, she saw Corrigan smilingderisively. At the sound of applause from the group on the opposite sideof the street, Corrigan's derision became a sneer. Miss Benham feltresentment; a slight color stained her cheeks. For she could notunderstand why Corrigan should show displeasure over this clean and cleveramusement. She was looking full at Corrigan when he turned and caught hergaze. The light in his eyes was positively venomous. "It is a rather dramatic bid for your interest, isn't it, Miss Benham?" hesaid. His voice came during a lull that followed the applause. It reachedRosalind, full and resonant. It carried to the rider of the black horse, and glancing sidelong at him, Rosalind saw his face whiten under the deeptan upon it. It carried, too, to the other side of the street, and thegirl saw faces grow suddenly tense; noted the stiffening of bodies. Theflat, ominous silence that followed was unreal and oppressive. Out of itcame the rider's voice as he urged the black to a point within three orfour paces of Corrigan and sat in the saddle, looking at him. And now forthe first time Rosalind had a clear, full view of the rider's face and aquiver of trepidation ran over her. For the lean jaws were corded, themouth was firm and set--she knew his teeth were clenched; it was the faceof a man who would not be trifled with. His chin was shoved forwardslightly; somehow it helped to express the cold humor that shone in hisnarrowed, steady eyes. His voice, when he spoke to Corrigan, had ametallic quality that rang ominously in the silence that had continued: "Back up your play or take it back, " he said slowly. Corrigan had not changed his position. He stared fixedly at the rider; hisonly sign of emotion over the latter's words was a quickening of the eyes. He idly tapped with his fingers on the sleeve of his khaki shirt, wherethe arm passed under them to fold over the other. His voice easily matchedthe rider's in its quality of quietness: "My conversation was private. You are interfering without cause. " Watching the rider, filled with a sudden, breathless premonition ofimpending tragedy, Rosalind saw his eyes glitter with the imminence ofphysical action. Distressed, stirred by an impulse to avert whatthreatened, she took a step forward, speaking rapidly to Corrigan: "Mr. Corrigan, this is positively silly! You know you were hardlydiscreet!" Corrigan smiled coldly, and the girl knew that it was not a question ofright or wrong between the two men, but a conflict of spirit. She did notknow that hatred had been born here; that instinctively each knew theother for a foe, and that this present clash was to be merely one battleof the war that would be waged between them if both survived. Not for an instant did Corrigan's eyes wander from those of the rider. Hesaw from them that he might expect no further words. None came. Therider's right hand fell to the butt of the pistol that swung low on hisright hip. Simultaneously, Corrigan's hand dropped to his hip pocket. Rosalind saw the black horse lunge forward as though propelled by a suddenspring. A dust cloud rose from his hoofs, and Corrigan was lost in it. When the dust swirled away, Corrigan was disclosed to the girl's view, doubled queerly on the ground, face down. The black horse had struck himwith its shoulder--he seemed to be badly hurt. For a moment the girl stood, swaying, looking around appealingly, startledwonder, dismay and horror in her eyes. It had happened so quickly that shewas stunned. She had but one conscious emotion--thankfulness that neitherman had used his pistol. No one moved. The girl thought some of them might have come to Corrigan'sassistance. She did not know that the ethics forbade interference, that afight was between the fighters until one acknowledged defeat. Corrigan's face was in the dust; he had not moved. The black horse stood, quietly now, several feet distant, and presently the rider dismounted, walked to Corrigan and turned him over. He worked the fallen man's armsand legs, and moved his neck, then knelt and listened at his chest. He gotup and smiled mirthlessly at the girl. "He's just knocked out, Miss Benham. It's nothing serious. Nigger--" "You coward!" she interrupted, her voice thick with passion. His lips whitened, but he smiled faintly. "Nigger--" he began again. "Coward! Coward!" she repeated, standing rigid before him, her handsclenched, her lips stiff with scorn. He smiled resignedly and turned away. She stood watching him, hating him, hurling mental anathemas after him, until she saw him pass through thedoorway of the bank. Then she turned to see Corrigan just getting up. Not a man in the group across the street had moved. They, too, had watchedTrevison go into the bank, and now their glances shifted to the girl andCorrigan. Their sympathies, she saw plainly, were with Trevison; severalof them smiled as the easterner got to his feet. Corrigan was pale and breathless, but he smiled at her and held her offwhen she essayed to help him brush the dust from his clothing. He did thathimself, and mopped his face with a handkerchief. "It wasn't fair, " whispered the girl, sympathetically. "I almost wish thatyou had killed him!" she added, vindictively. "My, what a fire-eater!" he said with a broad smile. She thought he lookedhandsomer with the dust upon him, than he had ever seemed when polishedand immaculate. "Are you badly hurt?" she asked, with a concern that made him look quicklyat her. He laughed and patted her arm lightly. "Not a bit hurt, " he said. "Come, those men are staring. " He escorted her to the step of the private car, and lingered a momentthere to make his apology for his part in the trouble. He told herfrankly, that he was to blame, knowing that Trevison's action in ridinghim down would more than outweigh any resentment she might feel over hismistake in bringing about the clash in her presence. She graciously forgave him, and a little later she entered the car alone;he telling her that he would be in presently, after he returned from thestation where he intended to send a telegram. She gave him a smile, standing on the platform of the car, dazzling, eloquent with promise. Itmade his heart leap with exultation, and as he went his way toward thestation he voiced a sentiment: "Entirely worth being ridden down for. " But his jaws set savagely as he approached the station. He did not go intothe station, but around the outside wall of it, passing between it andanother building and coming at last to the front of the bank building. Hehad noted that the black horse was still standing in front of the bankbuilding, and that the group of men had dispersed. The street wasdeserted. Corrigan's movements became quick and sinister. He drew a heavy revolverout of a hip pocket, shoved its butt partly up his sleeve and concealedthe cylinder and barrel in the palm of his hand. Then he stepped into thedoor of the bank. He saw Trevison standing at one of the grated windows ofthe wire netting, talking with Braman. Corrigan had taken several stepsinto the room before Trevison heard him, and then Trevison turned, to findhimself looking into the gaping muzzle of Corrigan's pistol. "You didn't run, " said the latter. "Thought it was all over, I suppose. Well, it isn't. " He was grinning coldly, and was now deliberate andunexcited, though two crimson spots glowed in his cheeks, betraying thepresence of passion. "Don't reach for that gun!" he warned Trevison. "I'll blow a hole throughyou if you wriggle a finger!" Watching Trevison, he spoke to Braman: "Yougot a back room here?" The banker stepped around the end of the counter and opened a door behindthe wire netting. "Right here, " he directed. Corrigan indicated the door with a jerking movement of the head. "Move!"he said shortly, to Trevison. The latter's lips parted in a cold, amusedgrin, and he hesitated slightly, yielding presently. An instant later the three were standing in the middle of a large room, empty except for a cot upon which Braman slept, some clothing hanging onthe walls, a bench and a chair. Corrigan ordered the banker to clear theroom. When that had been done, Corrigan spoke again to the banker: "Get his gun. " A snapping alertness of the eyes indicated that Trevison knew what wascoming. That was the reason he had been so quiescent this far; it was whyhe made no objection when Braman passed his hands over his clothing insearch of other weapons, after his pistol had been lifted from its holsterby the banker. "Now get out of here and lock the doors!" ordered Corrigan. "And letnobody come in!" Braman retired, grinning expectantly. Then Corrigan backed away until he came to the wall. Reaching far up, hehung his revolver on a nail. "Now, " he said to Trevison, his voice throaty from passion; "take off yourdamned foolish trappings. I'm going to knock hell out of you!" CHAPTER III BEATING A GOOD MAN Trevison had not moved. He had watched the movements of the other closely, noting his huge bulk, his lithe motions, the play of his muscles as hebacked across the room to dispose of the pistol. At Corrigan's wordsthough, Trevison's eyes glowed with a sudden fire, his teeth gleamed, hisstraight lips parting in a derisive smile. The other's manner toward himhad twanged the chord of animosity that had been between them since thefirst exchange of glances, and he was as eager as Corrigan for the clashthat must now come. He had known that the first conflict had been anunfinished thing. He laughed in sheer delight, though that delight wastempered with savage determination. "Save your boasts, " he taunted. Corrigan sneered. "You won't look so damned attractive when you leave thisroom. " He took off his hat and tossed it into a corner, then turned toTrevison with an ugly grin. "Ready?" he said. "Quite. " Trevison had not accepted Corrigan's suggestion about taking offhis "damned foolish trappings, " and he still wore them--cartridge belt, leather chaps, spurs. But now he followed Corrigan's lead and threw hishat from him. Then he crouched and faced Corrigan. They circled cautiously, Trevison's spurs jingling musically. ThenTrevison went in swiftly, jabbing with his left, throwing off Corrigan'svicious counter with the elbow, and ripping his right upward. The fist metCorrigan's arm as the latter blocked, and the shock forced both men back astep. Corrigan grinned with malicious interest and crowded forward. "That's good, " he said; "you're not a novice. I hope you're not a quitter. I've quite a bit to hand you for riding me down. " Trevison grinned derisively, but made no answer. He knew he must save hiswind for this man. Corrigan was strong, clever; his forearm, which hadblocked Trevison's uppercut, had seemed like a bar of steel. Trevison went in again with the grim purpose of discovering just howstrong his antagonist was. Corrigan evaded a stiff left jab intended forhis chin, and his own right cross missed as Trevison ducked into a clinch. With arms locked they strained, legs braced, their lungs heaving as theywrestled, doggedly. Corrigan stood like a post, not giving an inch. Vainly Trevison writhed, seeking a position which would betray a weakened muscle, but though heexerted every ounce of his own mighty strength Corrigan held him even. They broke at last, mutually, and Corrigan must have felt the leatheryquality of Trevison's muscles, for his face was set in serious lines. Hiseyes glittered malignantly as he caught a confident smile on Trevison'slips, and he bored in silently, swinging both hands. Trevison had been the cool boxer, carefully trying out his opponent. Hehad felt little emotion save that of self-protection. At the beginning ofthe fight he would have apologized to Corrigan--with reservations. Now hewas stirred with the lust of battle. Corrigan's malignance had struck aresponsive passion in him, and the sodden impact of fist on flesh, thematching of strength against strength, the strain of iron muscles, thecontact of their bodies, the sting and burn of blows, had aroused thelatent savage in him. He was still cool, however, but it was the craftycoolness of the trained fighter, and as Corrigan crowded him he whipped inripping blows that sent the big man's head back. Corrigan paid little heedto the blows; he shook them off, grunting. Blood was trickling thinly fromhis lips; he spat bestially over Trevison's shoulder in a clinch, andtried to sweep the latter from his feet. The agility of the cow-puncher saved him, and he went dancing out ofharm's way, his spurs jingling. Corrigan was after him with a rush. Aheavy blow caught Trevison on the right side of the neck just below theear and sent him, tottering, against the wall of the building, from whichhe rebounded like a rubber ball, smothering Corrigan with an avalanche ofdeadening straight-arm punches that brought a glassy stare into Corrigan'seyes. The big man's head wabbled, and Trevison crowded in, intent onending the fight quickly, but Corrigan covered instinctively, and whenTrevison in his eagerness missed a blow, the big man clinched with him andhung on doggedly until his befoggled brain could clear. For a few minutesthey rocked around the room, their heels thudding on the bare boards ofthe floor, creating sounds that filtered through the enclosing walls andsmote the silence of the outside world with resonant rumblings. Mercilessly, Trevison hammered at the heavy head that sought a haven onhis shoulder. Corrigan had been stunned and wanted no more long rangework. He tried to lock his big arms around the other's waist in an attemptto wrestle, realizing that in that sort of a contest lay his only hope ofvictory, but Trevison, agile, alert to his danger, slipped elusively fromthe grasping hands and thudded uppercuts to the other's mouth and jawsthat landed with sickening force. But none of the blows landed on a vitalspot, and Corrigan hung grimly on. At last, lashing viciously, wriggling, squirming, swinging around in awide circle to get out of Corrigan's clutches, Trevison broke the clinchand stood off, breathing heavily, summoning his reserve strength for afinishing blow. Corrigan had been fearfully punished during the last fewminutes, but he was gradually recovering from his dizziness, and hegrinned hideously at Trevison through his smashed lips. He surged forward, reminding Trevison of a wounded bear, but Trevison retreated warily as hemeasured the distance from which he would drive the blow that would endit He was still retreating, describing a wide circle. He swung around towardthe door through which Braman had gone--his back was toward it. He did notsee the door open slightly as he passed; he had not seen Braman's face inthe slight crevice that had been between door and jamb all along. Nor didhe see the banker jab at his legs with the handle of a broom. But he feltthe handle hit his legs. It tripped him, forcing him to lose his balance. As he fell he saw Corrigan's eyes brighten, and he twisted sideways toescape a heavy blow that Corrigan aimed at him. He only partially evadedit--it struck him glancingly, a little to the left of the chin, stunninghim, and he fell awkwardly, his left arm doubling under him. The agonizingpain that shot through the arm as he crumpled to the floor told him thatit had been broken at the wrist. A queer stupor came upon him, duringwhich he neither felt nor saw. Dimly, he sensed that Corrigan was strikingat him; with a sort of vague half-consciousness he felt that the blowswere landing. But they did not hurt, and he laughed at Corrigan's futileefforts. The only feeling he had was a blind rage against Braman, for hewas certain that it had been the banker who had tripped him. Then he sawthe broom on the floor and the crevice in the doorway. He got to his feetsome way, Corrigan hanging to him, raining blows upon him, and he laughedaloud as, his vision clearing a little, he saw Corrigan's mouth, weak, open, drooling blood, and remembered that when Braman had tripped himCorrigan had hardly been in shape to do much effective hitting. Hetottered away from Corrigan, taunting him, though afterwards he could notremember what his words were. Also, he heard Corrigan cursing him, thoughhe could never remember _his_ words, either. He tried to swing his leftarm as Corrigan came within range of it, but found he could not lift it, and so ducked the savage blow that Corrigan aimed at him and slippedsideways, bringing his right into play. Several times as they circled heuppercut Corrigan with the right, he retreating, side-stepping; Corriganfollowing him doggedly, slashing venomously at him, hitting himoccasionally. Corrigan could not hurt him, and he could not resistlaughing at Corrigan's face--it was so hideously repulsive. A man came out of the front door of Hanrahan's saloon across the streetfrom the bank building, and stood in the street for a moment, lookingabout him. Had Miss Benham seen the man she would have recognized him asthe one who had previously come out of the saloon to greet the rider with:"Well, if it ain't ol' 'Brand'!" He saw the black horse standing in frontof the bank building, but Trevison was nowhere in sight. The man mumbled:"I don't want him to git away without me seein' him, " and crossed thestreet to the bank window and peered inside. He saw Braman peering througha half-open door at the rear of the banking room, and he heardsounds--queer, jarring sounds that made the glass window in front of himrattle and quiver. He dove around to the side of the building and looked in a window. Hestood for a moment, watching with bulging eyes, half drew a pistol, thought better of the notion and replaced it, and then darted back to thesaloon from which he had emerged, croaking hoarsely: "Fight! fight!" * * * * * Trevison had not had the agility to evade one of Corrigan's heavy blows. It had caught him as he had tried to duck, striking fairly on the point ofthe jaw, and he was badly dazed. But he still grinned mockingly at hisenemy as the latter followed him, tensed, eager, snarling. He evaded otherblows that would have finished him--through instinct, it seemed toCorrigan; and though there was little strength left in him he kept workinghis right fist through Corrigan's guard and into his face, pecking away atit until it seemed to be cut to ribbons. Voices came from somewhere in the banking room, voices raised inaltercation. Neither of the two men, raging around the rear room, heardthem--they had become insensate savages oblivious of their surroundings, drunken with passion, with the blood-mania gripping their brains. Trevison had brought the last ounce of his remaining strength into playand had landed a crushing blow on Corrigan's chin. The big man waswabbling crazily about in the general direction of Trevison, swinginghis arms wildly, Trevison evading him, snapping home blows that landedsmackingly without doing much damage. They served merely to keepCorrigan in the semi-comatose state in which Trevison's last hard blowhad left him. And that last blow had sapped Trevison's strength; hisspirit alone had survived the drunken orgy of rage and hatred. As thetumult around him increased--the tramp of many feet, scuffling; harsh, discordant voices, curses, yells of protest, threats--not a sound of whichhe heard, so intent was he with his work of battering his adversary, heceased to retreat from Corrigan, and as the latter shuffled toward himhe stiffened and drove his right fist into the big man's face. Corrigancursed and grunted, but lunged forward again. They swung at the sameinstant--Trevison's right just grazing Corrigan's jaw; Corrigan's blow, full and sweeping, thudding against Trevison's left ear. Trevison'shead rolled, his chin sagged to his chest, and his knees doubled likehinges. Corrigan smirked malevolently and drove forward again. But hewas too eager, and his blows missed the reeling target that, with armshanging wearily at his sides, still instinctively kept to his feet, the taunting smile, now becoming bitterly contemptuous, still on hisface. It meant that though exhausted, his arm broken, he felt onlyscorn for Corrigan's prowess as a fighter. Fighting off the weariness he lunged forward again, swinging the nowdeadened right arm at the blur Corrigan made in front of him. Somethingcollided with him--a human form--and thinking it was Corrigan, clinchingwith him, he grasped it. The momentum of the object, and his own weakness, carried him back and down, and with the object in his grasp he fell, underneath, to the floor. He saw a face close to his--Braman's--andremembering that the banker had tripped him, he began to work his rightfist into the other's face. He would have finished Braman. He did not know that the man who hadgreeted him as "ol' 'Brand'" had smashed the banker in the forehead withthe butt of a pistol when the banker had tried to bar his progress at thedoorway; he was not aware that the force of the blow had hurled Bramanagainst him, and that the latter, half unconscious, was not defendinghimself. He would not have cared had he known these things, for he wasfighting blindly, doggedly, recklessly--fighting two men, he thought. Andthough he sensed that there could be but one end to such a struggle, hehammered away with ferocious malignance, and in the abandon of his passionin this extremity he was recklessly swinging his broken left arm, drivingit at Braman, groaning each time the fist landed. He felt hands grasping him, and he fought them off, smashing weakly atfaces that appeared around him as he was dragged to his feet. He heard avoice say: "His arm's bruk, " and the voice seemed to clear the atmosphere. He paused, holding back a blow, and the dancing blur of faces assumed aproper aspect and he saw the man who had hit the banker. "Hello Mullarky!" he grinned, reeling drunkenly in the arms of hisfriends. "Come to see the picnic? Where's my--" He saw Corrigan leaning against a wall of the room and lurched toward him. A dozen hands held him back--the room was full of men; and as his braincleared he recognized some of them. He heard threats, mutterings, againstCorrigan, and he laughed, bidding the men to hold their peace, that it wasa "fair fight. " Corrigan was unmoved by the threats--as he was unmoved byTrevison's words. He leaned against the wall, weak, his arms hanging athis sides, his face macerated, grinning contemptuously. And then, despitehis objections, Trevison was dragged away by Mullarky and the others, leaving Braman stretched out on the floor, and Corrigan, his kneessagging, his chin almost on his chest, standing near the wall. Trevisonturned as he was forced out of the door, and grinned tauntingly at histired enemy. Corrigan spat at him. Half an hour later, his damaged arm bandaged, and some marks of the battleremoved, Trevison was in the banking room. He had forbidden any of hisfriends to accompany him, but Mullarky and several others stood outsidethe door and watched him. A bandage around his head, Braman leaned on the counter behind the wirenetting, pale, shaking. In a chair at the desk sat Corrigan, glowering atTrevison. The big man's face had been attended to, but it was swollenfrightfully, and his smashed lips were in a horrible pout. Trevisongrinned at him, but it was to the banker that he spoke. "I want my gun, Braman, " he said, shortly. The banker took it out of a drawer and silently shoved it across thecounter and through a little opening in the wire netting. The bankerwatched, fearingly, as Trevison shoved the weapon into its holster. Corrigan stolidly followed his movements. The gun in its holster, Trevison leaned toward the banker. "I always knew you weren't straight, Braman. But we won't quarrel aboutthat now. I just want you to know that when this arm of mine is rightagain, we'll try to square things between us. Broom handles will be barredthat day. " Braman was silent and uneasy as he watched Trevison reach into a pocketand withdraw a leather bill-book. From this he took a paper and tossed itin through the opening of the wire netting. "Cash it, " he directed. "It's about the matter we were discussing when wewere interrupted by our bloodthirsty friend, there. " He looked at Corrigan while Braman examined the paper, his eyes alightwith the mocking, unfearing gleam that had been in them during the fight. Corrigan scowled and Trevison grinned at him--the indomitable, mirthlessgrin of the reckless fighting man; and Corrigan filled his lungs slowly, watching him with half-closed eyes. It was as though both knew that adistant day would bring another clash between them. Braman fingered the paper uncertainly, and looked at Corrigan. "I suppose this is all regular?" he said. "You ought to know somethingabout it--it's a check from the railroad company for the right-of-waythrough Mr. Trevison's land. " Corrigan's eyes brightened as he examined the check. They filled with ahard, sinister light. "No, " he said; "it isn't regular. " He took the check from Braman anddeliberately tore it into small pieces, scattering them on the floor athis feet. He smiled vindictively, settling back into his chair. "'Brand'Trevison, eh?" he said. "Well, Mr. Trevison, the railroad company isn'tready to close with you. " Trevison had watched the destruction of the check without the quiver of aneyelash. A faint, ironic smile curved the corners of his mouth as Corriganconcluded. "I see, " he said quietly. "You were not man enough to beat me a littlewhile ago--even with the help of Braman's broom. You're going to take itout on me through the railroad; you're going to sneak and scheme. Well, you're in good company--anything that you don't know about skinning peopleBraman will tell you. But I'm letting you know this: The railroadcompany's option on my land expired last night, and it won't be renewed. If it's fight you're looking for, I'll do my best to accommodate you. " Corrigan grunted, and idly drummed with the fingers of one hand on the topof the desk, watching Trevison steadily. The latter opened his lips tospeak, changed his mind, grinned and went out. Corrigan and Braman watchedhim as he stopped for a moment outside to talk with his friends, and theirgaze followed him until he mounted Nigger and rode out of town. Then thebanker looked at Corrigan, his brows wrinkling. "You know your business, Jeff, " he said; "but you've picked a tough man inTrevison. " Corrigan did not answer. He was glowering at the pieces of the check thatlay on the floor at his feet. CHAPTER IV THE LONG ARM OF POWER Presently Corrigan lit a cigar, biting the end off carefully, to keep itfrom coming in contact with his bruised lips. When the cigar was goingwell, he looked at Braman. "What is Trevison?" Pale, still dizzy from the effects of the blow on the head, Braman, whowas leaning heavily on the counter, smiled wryly: "He's a holy terror--you ought to know that. He's a reckless, don't-give-a-damn fool who has forgotten there's such a thing asconsequences. 'Firebrand' Trevison, they call him. And he lives up to whatthat means. The folks in this section of the country swear by him. " Corrigan made a gesture of impatience. "I mean--what does he do? Of courseI know he owns some land here. But how much land does he own?" "You saw the figure on the check, didn't you? He owns five thousandacres. " "How long has he been here?" "You've got me. More than ten years, I guess, from what I can gather. " "What was he before he came here?" "I couldn't even surmise that--he don't talk about his past. From the wayhe waded into you, I should judge he was a prize fighter before becoming acow-puncher. " Corrigan glared at the banker. "Yes; it's damned funny, " he said. "How didhe get his land?" "Proved on a quarter-section. Bought the rest of it--and bought it mightycheap. " Braman's eyes brightened. "Figure on attacking _his_ title?" Corrigan grunted. "I notice he asked you for cash. You're not his banker, evidently. " "He banks in Las Vegas, I guess. " "What about his cattle?" "He shipped three thousand head last season. " "How big is his outfit?" "He's got about twenty men. They're all hard cases--like him, and they'dshoot themselves for him. " Corrigan got up and walked to the window, from where he looked out atManti. The town looked like an army camp. Lumber, merchandise, supplies ofevery description, littered the street in mounds and scattered heaps, awaiting the erection of tent-house and building. But there was none ofthat activity that might have been expected from the quantity of materialon hand; it seemed that the owners were waiting, delaying in anticipationof some force that would give them encouragement. They were reluctant torisk their money in erecting buildings on the strength of mere rumor. Butthey had come, hoping. Corrigan grinned at Braman. "They're afraid to take a chance, " he said, meaning Manti's citizens. "Don't blame them. I've spread the stuff around--as you told me. That'sall they've heard. They're here on a forlorn hope. The boom they arelooking for, seems, from present conditions, to be lurking somewhere inthe future, shadowed by an indefiniteness that to them is vaguelyconnected with somebody's promise of a dam, agricultural activity tofollow, and factories. They haven't been able to trace the rumors, butthey're here, and they'll make things hum if they get a chance. " "Sure, " grinned Corrigan. "A boom town is always a graft for firstarrivals. That is, boom towns _have_ been. But Manti--" He paused. "Yes, different, " chuckled the banker. "It must have cost a wad to shovethat water grant through. " "Benham kicked on the price--it was enough. " "That maximum rate clause is a pippin. You can soak them the limit rightfrom the jump. " "And scare them out, " scoffed Corrigan. "That isn't the game. Get themhere, first. Then--" The banker licked his lips. "How does old Benham take it?" "Mr. Benham is enthusiastic because everything will be done in a perfectlylegitimate way--he thinks. " "And the courts?" "Judge Lindman, of the District Court now in Dry Bottom, is going toestablish himself here. Benham pulled that string. " "Good!" said Braman. "When is Lindman coming?" Corrigan's smile was crooked; it told eloquently of conscious power overthe man he had named. "He'll come whenever I give the word. Benham's got something on him. " "You always were a clever son-of-a-gun!" laughed the banker, admiringly. Ignoring the compliment, Corrigan walked into the rear room, where hegazed frowningly at his reflection in a small glass affixed to the wall. Re-entering the banking room he said: "I'm in no condition to face Miss Benham. Go down to the car and tell herthat I shall be very busy here all day, and that I won't be able to seeher until late tonight. " Miss Benham's name was on the tip of the banker's tongue, but, glancing atCorrigan's face, he decided that it was no time for that particular brandof levity. He grabbed his hat and stepped out of the front door. Left alone, Corrigan paced slowly back and forth in the room, his browsfurrowed thoughtfully. Trevison had become an important figure in hismind. Corrigan had not hinted to Braman, to Trevison, or to Miss Benham, of the actual situation--nor would he. But during his first visit to townthat morning he had stood in one of the front windows of a saloon acrossthe street. He had not been getting acquainted, as he had told MissBenham, for the saloon had been the first place that he had entered, andafter getting a drink at the bar he had sauntered to the window. Fromthere he had seen "Brand" Trevison ride into town, and because Trevisonmade an impressive figure he had watched him, instinctively aware that inthe rider of the black horse was a quality of manhood that one meetsrarely. Trevison's appearance had caused him a throb of disquieting envy. He had noticed Trevison's start upon getting his first glimpse of theprivate car on the siding. He had followed Trevison's movements carefully, and with increased disquiet. For, instead of dismounting and going into asaloon or a store, Trevison had urged the black on, past the private car, which he had examined leisurely and intently. The clear morning air madeobjects at a distance very distinct, and as Trevison had ridden past thecar, Corrigan had seen a flutter at one of the windows; had caught afleeting glimpse of Rosalind Benham's face. He had seen Trevison rideaway, to return for a second view of the car a few minutes later. Atbreakfast, Corrigan had not failed to note Miss Benham's lingering glancesat the black horse, and again, in the bank, with her standing at the door, he had noticed her interest in the black horse and its rider. Hisquickly-aroused jealousy and hatred had driven him to the folly ofimpulsive action, a method which, until now, he had carefully evaded. Yes, he had found "Brand" Trevison a worthy antagonist--Braman had himappraised correctly. Corrigan's smile was bitter as he again walked into the rear room andsurveyed his reflection in the glass. Disgusted, he turned to one of thewindows and looked out. From where he stood he could see straight down therailroad tracks to the cut, down the wall of which, some hours before, Trevison had ridden the black horse. The dinky engine, with its train offlat-cars, was steaming toward him. As he watched, engine and cars struckthe switch and ran onto the siding, where they came to a stop. Corriganfrowned and looked at his watch. It lacked fully three hours to quittingtime, and the cars were empty, save for the laborers draped on them, theirtools piled in heaps. While Corrigan watched, the laborers descended fromthe cars and swarmed toward their quarters--a row of tent-houses near thesiding. A big man--Corrigan knew him later as Patrick Carson--swung downfrom the engine-cab and lumbered toward the little frame station house, ina window of which the telegrapher could be seen, idly scanning a week-oldnewspaper. Carson spoke shortly to the telegrapher, at which the lattermotioned toward the bank building and the private car. Then Carson cametoward the bank building. An instant later, Carson came in the front doorand met Corrigan at the wire netting. "Hullo, " said the Irishman, without preliminaries; "the agent was tellin'me I'd find a mon named Corrigan here. You're in charge, eh?" he added atCorrigan's affirmative. "Well, bedad, somebody's got to be in charge fromnow on. The Willie-boy engineer from who I've been takin' me orders hassneaked away to Dry Bottom for a couple av days, shovin' theraysponsibility on me--an' I ain't feelin' up to it. I'm a daisyconstruction boss, if I do say it meself, but I ain't enough of a fightin'mon to buck the business end av a six-shooter. " "What's up?" "Mebbe you'd know--he said you'd be sure to. I've been parleyin' wid afello' named 'Firebrand' Trevison, an' I'm that soaked wid perspirationthat me boots is full av it, after me thryin' to urge him to be dacentlycareful wid his gun!" "What happened?" asked Corrigan, darkly. "This mon Trevison came down through the cut this mornin', goin' to town. He was pleasant as a mon who's had a raise in wages, an' he was joshin'wid us. A while ago he comes back from town, an' he's that cold an' politethat he'd freeze ye while he's takin' his hat off to ye. One av his armsis busted, an' he's got a welt or two on his face. But outside av thathe's all right. He rides down into the cut where we're all workin' fit tokill ourselves. He halts his big black horse about forty or fifty feetaway from the ol' rattle-box that runs the steam shovel, an' he grins likea tiger at me an' says: "'Carson, I'm wantin' you to pull your min off. I can't permit annyrailroad min on the Diamond K property. You're a friend av mine, an' allthat, but you'll have to pull your freight. You've got tin minutes. ' "'I've got me orders to do this work, ' I says--begging his pardon. "'Here's your orders to stop doin' it!' he comes back. An' I wasinspectin' the muzzle av his six-shooter. "'Ye wudn't shoot a mon for doin' his duthy?' I says. "'Thry me, ' he says. 'You're trespassers. The railroad company didn't comethrough wid the coin for the right-of-way. Your mon, Corrigan, has got anidee that he's goin' to bluff me. I'm callin' his bluff. You've got tinminutes to get out av here. At the end av that time I begin to shoot. I'vegot six cattridges in the gun, an' fifty more in the belt around memiddle. An' I seldom miss whin I shoot. It's up to you whether I start acemetery here or not, ' he says, cold an' ca'mlike. "The ginneys knowed somethin' was up, an' they crowded around. I thoughtTrevison was thryin' to run a bluff on _me_, an' I give orders for theginneys to go back to their work. "Trevison didn't say another word, but at the end av the tin minutes hegrins that tiger grin av his an' busts the safety valve on the rattle-boxwid a shot from his pistol. He smashes the water-gauge wid another, an'jammed one shot in the ol' rattle-box's entrails, an' she starts to blowoff steam----shriekin' like a soul in hell. The ginneys throwed down theirtools an' started to climb up the walls of the cut like a gang av monkeys, Trevison watchin' thim with a grin as cold as a barrow ful ov icicles. Murph', the engineer av the dinky, an' his fireman, ducks for theengine-cab, l'avin' me standin' there to face the music. Trevison yells atthe engineer av the rattle-box, an' he disappears like a rat into a hole. Thin Trevison swings his gun on me, an' I c'u'd feel me knees knockin'together. 'Carson, ' he says, 'I hate like blazes to do it, but you're theboss here, an' these min will do what you tell thim to do. Tell thim toget to hell out of here an' not come back, or I'll down you, sure as mename's Trevison!' "I'm old enough to know from lookin' at a mon whether he manes business ornot, an' Trevison wasn't foolin'. So I got the bhoys away, an' here weare. If you're in charge, it's up to you to smooth things out. Though fromthe looks av your mug 'Firebrand's' been maulin' you some, too!" Corrigan's answer was a cold glare. "You quit without a fight, eh?" hetaunted; "you let one man bluff half a hundred of you!" Carson's eyes brightened. "My recollection is that 'Firebrand' is stillholdin' the forrt. Whin I got me last look at him he was sittin' on thetop av the cut, like he was intendin' to stay there indefinite. If yethink he's bluffin', mebbe it'd be quite an idee for you to go out thereyourself, an' call it. I'd be willin' to give ye me moral support. " "I'll call him when I get ready. " Corrigan went to the desk and sat in thechair, ignoring Carson, who watched him narrowly. Presently he turned andspoke to the man: "Put your men at work trueing up the roadbed on the next section back, until further orders. " "An' let 'Firebrand' hold the forrt?" "Do as you're told!" Carson went out to his men. Near the station platform he turned and lookedback at the bank building, grinning. "There's two bulldogs comin' to gripsin this deal or I'm a domn poor prophet!" he said. When Braman returned from his errand he found Corrigan staring out of thewindow. The banker announced that Miss Benham had received Corrigan'smessage with considerable equanimity, and was rewarded for his levity witha frown. "What's Carson and his gang doing in town?" he queried. Corrigan told him, briefly. The banker whistled in astonishment, and hisface grew long. "I told you he is a tough one!" he reminded. Corrigan got to his feet. "Yes--he's a tough one, " he admitted. "I'mforced to alter my plans a little--that's all. But I'll get him. Hunt upsomething to eat, " he directed; "I'm hungry. I'm going to the station fora few minutes. " He went out, and the banker watched him until he vanished around thecorner of a building. Then Braman shook his head. "Jeff's resourceful, " hesaid. "But Trevison--" His face grew solemn. "What a damned fool I was totrip him with that broom!" He drew a pistol from a pocket and examined itintently, then returned it to the pocket and sat, staring with unseeingeyes beyond the station at the two lines of steel that ran out upon theplains and stopped in the deep cut on the crest of which he could see aman on a black horse. Down at the station Corrigan was leaning on a rough wooden counter, writing on a yellow paper pad. When he had finished he shoved the paperover to the telegrapher, who had been waiting: J. Chalfant Benham, B-- Building, New York. Unexpected opposition developed. Trevison. Give Lindman removal order immediately. Communicate with me at Dry Bottom tomorrow morning. Corrigan. Corrigan watched the operator send the message and then he returned to thebank building, where he found Braman setting out a meager lunch in therear room. The two men talked as they ate, mostly about Trevison, and thebanker's face did not lose its worried expression. Later they smoked andtalked and watched while the afternoon sun grew mellow; while the sombertwilight descended over the world and darkness came and obliterated thehill on which sat the rider of the black horse. Shortly after dark Corrigan sent the banker on another errand, this timeto a boarding-house at the edge of town. Braman returned shortly, announcing: "He'll be ready. " Then, just before midnight Corrigan climbedinto the cab of the engine which had brought the private car, and whichwas waiting, steam up, several hundred feet down the track from the car. "All right!" said Corrigan briskly, to the engineer, as he climbed in anda flare from the fire-box suffused his face; "pull out. But don't make anyfuss about it--I don't want those people in the car to know. " And shortlyafterwards the locomotive glided silently away into the darkness towardthat town in which a judge of the United States Court had, a few hoursbefore, received orders which had caused him to remark, bitterly: "So doesthe past shape the future. " CHAPTER V A TELEGRAM AND A GIRL Banker Braman went to bed on the cot in the back room shortly afterCorrigan departed from Manti. He stretched himself out with a sigh, oppressed with the conviction that he had done a bad day's work inantagonizing Trevison. The Diamond K owner would repay him, he knew. Buthe knew, too, that he need have no fear that Trevison would sneak aboutit. Therefore he did not expect to feel Trevison at his throat during thenight. That was some satisfaction. He dropped to sleep, thinking of Trevison. He awoke about dawn to a loudhammering on the rear door, and he scrambled out of bed and opened thedoor upon the telegraph agent. That gentleman gazed at him with grimreproof. "Holy Moses!" he said; "you're a hell of a tight sleeper! I've beenpounding on this door for an age!" He shoved a sheet of paper underBraman's nose. "Here's a telegram for you. " Braman took the telegram, scanning it, while the agent talked on, ramblingly. A sickly smile came over Braman's face when he finishedreading, and then he listened to the agent: "I got a wire a little after midnight, asking me if that man, Corrigan, was still in Manti. The engineer told me he was taking Corrigan back toDry Bottom at midnight, and so I knew he wasn't here, and I clicked back'No. ' It was from J. C. He must have connected with Corrigan at DryBottom. That guy Trevison must have old Benham's goat, eh?" Braman re-read the telegram; it was directed to him: Send my daughter to Trevison with cash in amount of check destroyed by Corrigan yesterday. Instruct her to say mistake made. No offense intended. Hustle. J. C. BENHAM. Braman slipped his clothes on and ran down the track to the private car. He had known J. C. Benham several years and was aware that when he issuedan order he wanted it obeyed, literally. The negro autocrat of the privatecar met him at the platform and grinned amply at the banker's request. "Miss Benham done tol' me she am not to be disturbed till eight o'clock, "he objected. But the telegram in Braman's hands had instant effect uponthe black custodian of the car, and shortly afterward Miss Benham waslooking at the banker and his telegram in sleepy-eyed astonishment, thedoor of her compartment open only far enough to permit her to stick herhead out. Braman was forced to do much explaining, and concluded by reading thetelegram to her. She drew everything out of him except the story of thefight. "Well, " she said in the end, "I suppose I shall have to go. So his name is'Brand' Trevison. And he won't permit the men to work. Why did Mr. Corrigan destroy the check?" Braman evaded, but the girl thought she knew. Corrigan had yielded to animpulse of obstinacy provoked by Trevison's assault on him. It was notgood business--it was almost childish; but it was human to feel that way. She felt a slight disappointment in Corrigan, though; the action did notquite accord with her previous estimate of him. She did not know what tothink of Trevison. But of course any man who would deliberately andbrutally ride another man down, would naturally not hesitate to adoptother lawless means of defending himself. She told Braman to have the money ready for her in an hour, and at the endof that time with her morocco handbag bulging, she emerged from the frontdoor of the bank and climbed the steps of the private car, which had beenpulled down to a point in front of the station by the dinky engine, withMurphy presiding at the throttle. Carson was standing on the platform when Miss Benham climbed to it, and hegrinned and greeted her with: "If ye have no objections, ma'am, I'll be ridin' down to the cut with ye. Me name's Patrick Carson, ma'am. " "I have no objection whatever, " said the lady, graciously. "I presume youare connected with the railroad?" "An' wid the ginneys that's buildin' it, ma'am, " he supplemented. "I'm theconstruction boss av this section, an' I'm the mon that had the unhappyexperience av lookin' into the business end av 'Firebrand's' six-shooteryisterday. " "'Firebrand's'?" she said, with a puzzled look at him. "Thot mon, Trevison, ma'am; that's what they call him. An' he fits itbedad--beggin' your pardon. " "Oh, " she said; "then you know him. " And she felt a sudden interest inCarson. "Enough to be certain he ain't to be monkeyed with, ma'am. " She seemed to ignore this. "Please tell the engineer to go ahead, " shetold him. "And then come into the car--I want to talk with you. " A little later, with the car clicking slowly over the rail-joints towardthe cut, Carson diffidently followed the negro attendant into a luxuriouscompartment, in which, seated in a big leather-covered chair, was MissBenham. She motioned Carson to another chair, and in the conversation thatfollowed Miss Benham received a comprehensive estimate of Trevison fromCarson's viewpoint. It seemed unsatisfying to her--Carson's commendationdid not appear to coincide with Trevison's performances. "Have you heard what happened in Manti yesterday?" she questioned. "Thisman, Trevison, jumped his horse against Mr. Corrigan and knocked himdown. " "I heard av it, " grinned Carson. "But I didn't see it. Nor did I see thedaisy scrap that tuk place right after. " "Fight?" she exclaimed. Carson reddened. "Sure, ye haven't heard av it, an' I'm blabbin' like akid. " "Tell me about it. " Her eyes were aglow with interest. "There's devilish little to tell--beggin' your pardon, ma'am. But thimthat was in at the finish is waggin' their tongues about it bein' a dandyshindy. Judgin' from the talk, nobuddy got licked--it was a fair dhraw. But I sh'ud judge, lookin' at Corrigan's face, that it was a darlin' av ascrap. " She was silent, gazing contemplatively out of the car window. Corrigan hadreturned, after escorting her to the car, to engage in a fight withTrevison. That was what had occupied him; that was why he had gone awaywithout seeing her. Well, Trevison had given him plenty of provocation. "Trevison's horse knockin' Corrigan down was what started it, they've beentellin' me, " said Carson. "But thim that know Trevison's black knows thatTrevison wasn't to blame. " "Not to blame?" she asked; "why not?" "For the simple rayson thot in a case like thot the mon has no controlover the baste, ma'am. 'Firebrand' told me only yisterday mornin' thotthere was no holdin' the black whin somebuddy tried to shoot wid him onhis back. " The girl remembered how Trevison had tried to speak to her immediatelyafter the upsetting of Corrigan, and she knew now, that he had wanted toexplain his action. Reviewing the incident in the light of Carson'sexplanation, she felt that Corrigan was quite as much at fault asTrevison. Somehow, that knowledge was vaguely satisfying. She did not succeed in questioning Carson further about Trevison, thoughthere were many points over which she felt a disturbing curiosity, forAgatha came in presently, and after nodding stiffly to Carson, seatedherself and gazed aloofly out of a window. Carson, ill at ease in Agatha's presence, soon invented an excuse to goout upon the platform, leaving Rosalind to explain his presence in thecar. "What on earth could you have to say to a section boss--or he to you?"demanded Agatha. "You are becoming very--er--indiscreet, Rosalind. " The girl smiled. It was a smile that would have betrayed the girl hadAgatha possessed the physiognomist's faculty of analyzation, for in it wasmuch relief and renewed faith. For the rider of the black horse was notthe brutal creature she had thought him. * * * * * When the private car came to a stop, Rosalind looked out of the window tosee the steep wall of the cut towering above her. Aunt Agatha still satnear, and when Rosalind got up Agatha rose also, registering anobjection: "I think your father might have arranged to have some _man_ meet thisoutlaw. It is not, in my opinion, a proper errand for a girl. But if youare determined to go, I presume I shall have to follow. " "It won't be necessary, " said Rosalind. But Agatha set her lips tightly. And when the girl reached the platform Agatha was close behind her. But both halted on the platform as they were about to descend the steps. They heard Carson's voice, loud and argumentative: "There's a lady aboored, I tell ye! If ye shoot, you're a lot of damnedrapscallions, an' I'll come up there an' bate the head off ye!" "Stow your gab an' produce the lady!" answered a voice. It came fromabove, and Rosalind stepped down to the floor of the cut and lookedupward. On the crest of the southern wall were a dozen men--cowboys--armedwith rifles, peering down at the car. They shifted their gaze to her whenshe stepped into view, and one of them laughed. "Correct, boys, " he said; "it's a lady. " There was a short silence;Rosalind saw the men gather close--they were talking, but she could nothear their voices. Then the man who had spoken first stepped to the edgeof the cut and called: "What do you want?" The girl answered: "I want to speak with Mr. Trevison. " "Sorry, ma'am, " came back the voice; "but Trevison ain't here--he's at theDiamond K. " Rosalind reached a decision quickly. "Aunty, " she said; "I am going to theDiamond K. " "I forbid you!" said Agatha sternly. "I would not trust you an instantwith those outlaws!" "Nonsense, " smiled Rosalind. "I am coming up, " she called to the man onthe crest; "do you mind?" The man laughed. "I reckon not, ma'am. " Rosalind smiled at Carson, who was watching her admiringly, and to thesmile he answered, pointing eastward to where the slope of the hill meltedinto the plains: "You'll have to go thot way, ma'am. " He laughed. "You'reperfectly safe wid thim min, ma'am--they're Trevison's--an' Trevison wudshoot the last mon av thim if they'd harm a hair av your pretty head. Goalong, ma'am, an' God bless ye! Ye'll be savin' a heap av throuble for mean' me ginneys, an' the railroad company. " He looked with bland derisionat Agatha who gave him a glance of scornful reproof as she followed afterher charge. The girl was panting when she reached the crest of the cut. Agatha was alittle white, possibly more from apprehension than from indignation, though that emotion had its influence; but their reception could not havebeen more formal had it taken place in an eastern drawing-room. For everyhat was off, and each man was trying his best to conceal his interest. Andwhen men have not seen a woman for a long time, the appearance of a prettyone makes it rather hard to maintain polite poise. But they succeeded, which spoke well for their manliness. If they exchanged surreptitiouswinks over the appearance of Agatha, they are to be excused, for thatlady's demeanor was one of frigid haughtiness, which is never quiteimpressive to those who live close to nature. In an exchange of words, brief and pointed, Rosalind learned that it wasthree miles to the Diamond K ranchhouse, and that Trevison had givenorders not to be disturbed unless the railroad company attempted tocontinue work at the cut. Could she borrow one of their horses, and aguide? "You bet!" emphatically returned the spokesman who, she learned later, wasTrevison's foreman. She should have the gentlest "cayuse" in the "bunch, "and the foreman would do the guiding, himself. At which word Agatha, noting the foreman's enthusiasm, glared coldly at him. But here Agatha was balked by the insurmountable wall of convention. Shehad ridden horses, to be sure, in her younger days; but when the foreman, at Rosalind's request, offered her a pony, she sniffed scornfully andmarched down the slope toward the private car, saying that if Rosalind was_determined_ to persist she might persist without _her_ assistance. Forthere was no side-saddle in the riding equipment of the outfit. AndRosalind, quite aware of the prudishness exhibited by her chaperon, andnot unmindful of the mirth that the men were trying their best to keepconcealed, rode on with the foreman, with something resemblingthankfulness for the temporary freedom tugging at her heart. * * * * * Trevison had camped all night on the crest of the cut. It was only at dawnthat Barkwell, the foreman who had escorted Rosalind, had appeared at thecut on his way to town, and discovered him, and then the foreman's planswere changed and he was dispatched to the Diamond K for reinforcements. Trevison had ridden back to the Diamond K to care for his arm, which hadpained him frightfully during the night, and at ten o'clock in the morninghe was stretched out, fully dressed and wide awake on the bed in his roomin the ranchhouse, frowningly reviewing the events of the day before. He was in no good humor, and when he heard Barkwell hallooing from theyard near the house, he got up and looked out of a window, a scowl on hisface. Rosalind was not in the best of spirits, herself, for during the ride tothe ranchhouse she had been sending subtly-questioning shafts at theforeman--questions that mostly concerned Trevison--and they had all fell, blunted and impotent, from the armor of Barkwell's reticence. But a glanceat Trevison's face, ludicrous in its expression of stunned amazement, brought a broad smile to her own. She saw his lips form her name, and thenshe waited demurely until she saw him coming out of the ranchhouse doortoward her. He had quite recovered from his surprise, she noted; his manner was thatof the day before, when she had seen him riding the black horse. When shesaw him coming lightly toward her, she at first had eyes for nothing buthis perfect figure, feeling the strength that his close-fitting clothingrevealed so unmistakably, and an unaccountable blush glowed in her cheeks. And then she observed that his left arm was in a sling, and a flash ofwondering concern swept over her--also unaccountable. And then he was ather stirrup, smiling up at her broadly and cordially. "Welcome to the Diamond K, Miss Benham, " he said. "Won't you get off yourhorse?" "Thank you; I came on business and must return immediately. There has beena misunderstanding, my father says. He wired me, directing me toapologize, for him, for Mr. Corrigan's actions of yesterday. Perhaps Mr. Corrigan over-stepped his authority--I have no means of knowing. " Shepassed the morocco bag over to him, and he took it, looking at it in someperplexity. "You will find cash in there to the amount named by the checkthat Mr. Corrigan destroyed. I hope, " she added, smiling at him, "thatthere will be no more trouble. " "The payment of this money for the right-of-way removes the provocationfor trouble, " he laughed. "Barkwell, " he directed, turning to the foreman;"you may go back to the outfit. " He looked after the foreman as the latterrode away, turning presently to Rosalind. "If you will wait a few minutes, until I stow this money in a safe place, I'll ride back to the cut withyou and pull the boys off. " She had wondered much over the rifles in the hands of his men at the cut. "Would your men have used their guns?" she asked. He had turned to go to the house, and he wheeled quickly, astonished. "Certainly!" he said; "why not?" "That would be lawlessness, would it not?" It made her shiver slightly tohear him so frankly confess to murderous designs. "It was not my quarrel, " he said, looking at her narrowly, his browscontracted. "Law is all right where everybody accepts it as a governor totheir actions. I accept it when it deals fairly with me--when it's just. Certain rights are mine, and I'll fight for them. This situation wasbrought on by Corrigan's obstinacy. We had a fight, and it peeved himbecause I wouldn't permit him to hammer my head off. He destroyed thecheck, and as the company's option expired yesterday it was unlawful forthe company to trespass on my land. " "Well, " she smiled, affected by his vehemence; "we shall have peace now, presumably. And--" she reddened again "--I want to ask your pardon on myown account, for speaking to you as I did yesterday. I thought youbrutal--the way you rode your horse over Mr. Corrigan. Mr. Carson assuredme that the horse was to blame. " "I am indebted to Carson, " he laughed, bowing. Rosalind watched him gointo the house, and then turned and inspected her surroundings. The housewas big, roomy, with a massive hip roof. A paved gallery stretched theentire length of the front--she would have liked to rest for a few minutesin the heavy rocker that stood in its cool shadows. No woman lived here, she was certain, because there was a lack of evidence of woman'shandiwork--no filmy curtains at the windows--merely shades; no cushion wason the chair--which, by the way, looked lonesome--but perhaps that wasmerely her imagination. Much dust had gathered on the gallery floor and onthe sash of the windows--a woman would have had things lookingdifferently. And so she divined that Trevison was not married. Itsurprised her to discover that that thought had been in her mind, and sheturned to continue her inspection, filled with wonder that it had beenthere. She got an impression of breadth and spaciousness out of her survey of thebuildings and the surrounding country. The buildings were in goodcondition; everything looked substantial and homelike and hercontemplation of it aroused in her a yearning for a house and land in thissection of the country, it was so peaceful and dignified in comparisonwith the life she knew. She watched Trevison when he emerged from the house, and smiled when hereturned the empty handbag. He went to a small building near a fencedenclosure--the corral, she learned afterward--and came out carrying asaddle, which he hung on the fence while he captured the black horse, which she had already observed. The animal evaded capture, playfully, butin the end it trotted mincingly to Trevison and permitted him to throw thebridle on. Then, shortly afterward he mounted the black and together theyrode back toward the cut. As they rode the girl's curiosity for the man who rode beside her grewacute. She was aware--she had been aware all along--that he was fardifferent from the other men of Manti--there was about him an atmosphereof refinement and quiet confidence that mingled admirably with hismagnificent physical force, tempering it, suggesting reserve power, hinting of excellent mental capacity. She determined to know somethingabout him. And so she began subtly: "In a section of country so large as this it seems that our Americanmeasure of length--a mile--should be stretched to something that wouldmore adequately express size. Don't you think so?" He looked quickly at her. "That is an odd thought, " he laughed, "but itinevitably attacks the person who views the yawning distances here for thefirst time. Why not use the English mile if the American doesn'tsatisfy?" "There is a measure that exceeds that, isn't there? Wasn't there a Persianmeasure somewhat longer, fathered by Herodotus or another of the ancients?I am sure there was--or is--but I have forgotten?" "Yes, " he said, "--a parasang. " He looked narrowly at her and saw her eyesbrighten. She had made progress; she felt much satisfaction. "You are not a native, " she said. "How do you know?" "Cowboys do not commonly measure their distances with parasangs, " shelaughed. "Nor do ordinary women try to shake off ennui by coming West in privatecars, " he drawled. She started and looking quickly at him. "How did you know that was whathappened to me?" she demanded. "Because you're too spirited and vigorous to spend your life dawdling insociety. You yearn for action, for the broad, free life of the open. You're in love with this country right now. " "Yes, yes, " she said, astonished; "but how do you know?" "You might have sent a man here in your place--Braman, for instance; hecould be trusted. You came yourself, eager for adventure--you came on aborrowed horse. When you were looking at the country from the horse infront of my house, I saw you sigh. " "Well, " she said, with flushed face and glowing eyes; "I _have_ decided tolive out here--for a time, at least. So you were watching me?" "Just a glance, " he defended, grinning; "I couldn't help it. Pleaseforgive me. " "I suppose I'll have to, " she laughed, delighted, reveling in this freedomof speech, in his directness. His manner touched a spark somewhere in her, she felt strangely elated, exhilarated. When she reflected that this wasonly their second meeting and that she had not been conventionallyintroduced to him, she was amazed. Had a stranger of her set talked to herso familiarly she would have resented it. Out here it seemed to beperfectly natural. "How do you know I borrowed a horse to come here?" she asked. "That's easy, " he grinned; "there's the Diamond K brand on his hip. " "Oh. " They rode on a little distance in silence, and then she remembered thatshe was still curious about him. His frankness had affected her; she didnot think it impertinent to betray curiosity. "How long have you lived out here?" she asked. "About ten years. " "You weren't born here, of course--you have admitted that. Then where didyou come from?" "This is a large country, " he returned, unsmilingly. It was a reproof, certainly--Rosalind could go no farther in thatdirection. But her words had brought a mystery into existence, thussharpening her interest in him. She was conscious, though, of a slightpique--what possible reason could he have for evasion? He had not theappearance of a fugitive from justice. "So you're going to live out here?" he said, after an interval. "Where?" "I heard father speak of buying Blakeley's place. Do you know where itis?" "It adjoins mine. " There was a leaping note in his voice, which she didnot fail to catch. "Do you see that dark line over there?" He pointedeastward--a mile perhaps. "That's a gully; it divides my land fromBlakeley's. Blakeley told me a month ago that he was dickering with aneastern man. If you are thinking of looking the place over, and want atrustworthy escort I should be pleased to recommend--myself. " And hegrinned widely at her. "I shall consider your offer--and I thank you for it, " she returned. "Ifeel positive that father will buy a ranch here, for he has much faith inthe future of Manti--he is obsessed with it. " He looked sharply at her. "Then your father is going to have a hand in thedevelopment of Manti? I heard a rumor to the effect that some easterncompany was interested, had, in fact, secured the water rights for anenormous section. " She remembered what Corrigan had told her, and blushingly dissembled: "I put no faith in rumor--do you? Mr. Corrigan is the head of the companywhich is to develop Manti. But of course _that_ is an eastern company, isn't it?" He nodded, and she smiled at a thought that came to her. "How far is it toBlakeley's ranchhouse?" she asked. "About two parasangs, " he answered gravely. "Well, " she said, mimicking him; "I could _never_ walk there, could I? IfI go, I shall have to borrow a horse--or buy one. Could you recommend ahorse that would be as trustworthy as the escort you have promised me?" "We shall go to Blakeley's tomorrow, " he told her. "I shall bring you atrustworthy horse at ten o'clock in the morning. " They were approaching the cut, and she nodded an acceptance. An instantlater he was talking to his men, and she sat near him, watching them asthey raced over the plains toward the Diamond K ranchhouse. One manremained; he was without a mount, and he grinned with embarrassment whenRosalind's gaze rested on him. "Oh, " she said; "you are waiting for your horse! How stupid of me!" Shedismounted and turned the animal over to him. When she looked around, Trevison had also dismounted and was coming toward her, leading the black, the reins looped through his arm. Rosalind flushed, and thought of Agatha, but offered no objection. It was a long walk down the slope of the hill and around its base to theprivate car, but they made it still longer by walking slowly and takingthe most roundabout way. Three persons saw them coming--Agatha, standingrigid on the platform; the negro attendant, standing behind Agatha in thedoorway, his eyes wide with interest; and Carson, seated on a boulder alittle distance down the cut, grinning broadly. "Bedad, " he rumbled; "the bhoy's made a hit wid her, or I'm a sinner! Butdidn't I know he wud? The two bulldogs is goin' to have it now, sure asI'm a foot high!" CHAPTER VI A JUDICIAL PUPPET Bowling along over the new tracks toward Manti in a special car secured atDry Bottom by Corrigan, one compartment of which was packed closely withbooks, papers, ledger records, legal documents, blanks, and even officefurniture, Judge Lindman watched the landscape unfold with mingledfeelings of trepidation, reluctance, and impotent regret. The Judge's facewas not a strong one--had it been he would not have been seated in thespecial car, talking with Corrigan. He was just under sixty-five years, and their weight seemed to rest heavily upon him. His eyes were slightlybleary, and had a look of weariness, as though he had endured much and wasutterly tired. His mouth was flaccid, the lips pouting when he compressedhis jaws, giving his face the sullen, indecisive look of the brooderlacking the mental and physical courage of independent action andinitiative. The Judge could be led; Corrigan was leading him now, and theJudge was reluctant, but his courage had oozed, back in Dry Bottom, whenCorrigan had mentioned a culpable action which the Judge had regrettedmany times. Some legal records of the county were on the table between the two men. The Judge had objected when Corrigan had secured them from the compartmentwhere the others were piled. "It isn't regular, Mr. Corrigan, " he had said; "no one except a legallyauthorized person has the right to look over those books. " "We'll say that I am legally authorized, then, " grinned Corrigan. The lookin his eyes was one of amused contempt. "It isn't the only irregular thingyou have done, Lindman. " The Judge subsided, but back in his eyes was a slumbering hatred for thisman, who was forcing him to complicity in another crime. He regretted thatother crime; why should this man deliberately remind him of it? After looking over the records, Corrigan outlined a scheme of action thatmade the Judge's face blanch. "I won't be a party to any such scurrilous undertaking!" he declared when, he could trust his voice; "I--I won't permit it!" Corrigan stretched his legs out under the table, shoved his hands into histrousers' pockets and laughed. "Why the high moral attitude, Judge? It doesn't become you. Refuse if youlike. When we get to Manti I shall wire Benham. It's likely he'll feelpretty sore. He's got his heart set on this. And I have no doubt thatafter he gets my wire he'll jump the next train for Washington, and--" The Judge exclaimed with weak incoherence, and a few minutes later he wasbending over the records with Corrigan--the latter making sundry copies ona pad of paper, which he placed in a pocket when the work was completed. At noon the special car was in Manti. Corrigan, the Judge, and Braman, carried the Judge's effects and stored them in the rear room of the bankbuilding. "I'll build you a courthouse, tomorrow, " he promised the Judge;"big enough for you and a number of deputies. You'll need deputies, youknow. " He grinned as the Judge shrank. Then, leaving the Judge in the roomwith his books and papers, Corrigan drew Braman outside. "I got hell from Benham for destroying Trevison's check--he wired me toattend to my other deals and let him run the railroad--the damned oldfool! You must have taken the cash to Trevison--I see the gang's workingagain. " "The cash went, " said the banker, watching Corrigan covertly, "but Ididn't take it. J. C. Wired explicit orders for his daughter to act. " Corrigan cursed viciously, his face dark with wrath as he turned to lookat the private car, on the switch. The banker watched him with secret, vindictive enjoyment. Miss Benham had judged Braman correctly--he wascold, crafty, selfish, and wholly devoid of sympathy. He was for Braman, first and last--and in the interim. "Miss Benham went to the cut--so I hear, " he went on, smoothly. "Trevisonwasn't there. Miss Benham went to the Diamond K. " His eyes gleamed asCorrigan's hands clenched. "Trevison rode back to the car with her--whichshe had ordered taken to the cut, " went on the banker. "And this morningabout ten o'clock Trevison came here with a led horse. He and Miss Benhamrode away together. I heard her tell her aunt they were going toBlakeley's ranch--it's about eight miles from here. " Corrigan's face went white. "I'll kill him for that!" he said. "Jealous, eh?" laughed the banker. "So, that's the reason--" Corrigan turned and struck bitterly. The banker's jaws clackedsharply--otherwise he fell silently, striking his head against the edge ofthe step and rolling, face down, into the dust. When he recovered and sat up, Corrigan had gone. The banker gazedfoolishly around at a world that was still reeling--felt his jawcarefully, wonder and astonishment in his eyes. "What do you know about that?" he asked of the surrounding silence. "I'vekidded him about women before, and he never got sore. He must be inlove!" * * * * * Riding through a saccaton basin, the green-brown tips so high that theycaught at their stirrups as they rode slowly along; a white, smiling skyabove them and Blakeley's still three miles away, Miss Benham and Trevisonwere chatting gayly at the instant the banker had received Corrigan'sblow. Miss Benham had spent the night thinking of Trevison, and she had spentmuch of her time during the present ride stealing glances at him. She haddiscovered something about him that had eluded her the day before--animpulsive boyishness. It was hidden behind the manhood of him, so that thecasual observer would not be likely to see it; men would have failed tosee it, because she was certain that with men he would not let it be seen. But she knew the recklessness that shone in his eyes, the energy thatslumbered in them ready to be applied any moment in response to any whimthat might seize him, were traits that had not yet yielded to the sterngovernors of manhood--nor would they yield in many years to come--theywere the fountains of virility that would keep him young. She felt theirresistible appeal of him, responsive to the youth that flourished in herown heart--and Corrigan, older, more ponderous, less addicted to impulse, grew distant in her thoughts and vision. The day before yesterday hersympathies had been with Corrigan--she had thought. But as she rode sheknew that they were threatening to desert him. For this man of heroic moldwho rode beside her was disquietingly captivating in the bold recklessnessof his youth. They climbed the far slope of the basin and halted their horses on thecrest. Before them stretched a plain so big and vast and inviting that itmade the girl gasp with delight. "Oh, " she said, awed; "isn't it wonderful?" "I knew you'd like it. " "The East has nothing like this, " she said, with a broad sweep of thehand. "No, " he said. She turned on him triumphantly. "There!" she declared; "you have committedyourself. You are from the East!" "Well, " he said; "I've never denied it. " Something vague and subtle had drawn them together during the ride, bridging the hiatus of strangeness, making them feel that they had beenacquainted long. It did not seem impertinent to her that she should askthe question that she now put to him--she felt that her interest in himpermitted it: "You are an easterner, and yet you have been out here for about ten years. Your house is big and substantial, but I should judge that it has nocomforts, no conveniences. You live there alone, except for some men, andyou have male servants--if you have any. Why should you bury yourselfhere? You are educated, you are young. There are great opportunities foryou in the East!" She paused, for she saw a cynical expression in his eyes. "Well?" she said, impatiently, for she had been very much in earnest. "I suppose I've got to tell you, " he said, soberly. "I don't know what hascome over me--you seem to have me under a spell. I've never spoken aboutit before. I don't know why I should now. But you've got to know, Ipresume. " "Yes. " "On your head rest the blame, " he said, his grin still cynical; "and uponmine the consequences. It isn't a pretty story to tell; it's only virtueis its brevity. I was fired out of college for fighting. The fellows Ilicked deserved what they got--and I deserved what I got for breakingrules. I've always broken rules. I may have broken laws--most of us have. My father is wealthy. The last time I saw him he said I was incorrigibleand a dunce. I admit the former, but I'm going to make him take the otherback. I told him so. He replied that he was from Missouri. He gave me anopportunity to make good by cutting off my allowance. There was a girl. When my allowance was cut off she made me feel cold as an Eskimo. Told mestraight that she had never liked me in the way she'd led me to believeshe did, and that she was engaged to a _real_ man. She made the mistake oftelling me his name, and it happened to be one of the fellows I'd hadtrouble with at college. The girl lost her temper and told me things he'dsaid about me. I left New York that night, but before I hopped on thetrain I stopped in to see my rival and gave him the bulliest trimming thatI had ever given anybody. I came out here and took up a quarter-section ofland. I bought more--after a while. I own five thousand acres, and about athousand acres of it is the best coal land in the United States. Iwouldn't sell it for love or money, for when your father gets his railroadrunning, I'm going to cash in on ten of the leanest and hardest andlonesomest years that any man ever put in. I'm going back some day. But Iwon't stay. I've lived in this country so long that it's got into my heartand soul. It's a golden paradise. " She did not share his enthusiasm--her thoughts were selfishly personal, though they included him. "And the girl!" she said. "When you go back, would you--" "Never!" he scoffed, vehemently. "That would convince me that I am thedunce my father said I was!" The girl turned her head and smiled. And a little later, when they wereriding on again, she murmured softly: "Ten years of lonesomeness and bitterness to save his pride! I wonder ifHester Keyes knows what she has missed?" CHAPTER VII TWO LETTERS GO EAST After Agatha retired that night Rosalind sat for a long time writing at alittle desk in the private car. She was tingling with excitement over adiscovery she had made, and was yearning for a confidante. Since it hadnot been her habit to confide in Agatha, she did the next best thing, which was to indite a letter to her chum, Ruth Gresham. In one place shewrote: "Do you remember Hester Keyes' love affair of ten years ago? You certainlymust remember it! If you cannot, permit me to brush the dust offorgetfulness away. You cannot forget the night you met William Kinkaid?Of course you cannot forget that, for when you are Mrs. Kinkaid--Butthere! I won't poke fun at you. But I think every married person needs totreasure every shred of romance against inevitable hum-drum days. Isn'tthat a sad sentiment? But I want to get ahead with my reminder. " There followed much detail, having to do with Hester Keyes' party, towhich neither Rosalind nor Ruth Gresham had been invited, for reasonswhich Rosalind presently made obvious. She continued: "Of course, custom does not permit girls of fourteen to figure prominentlyat 'coming-out' parties, but after one is there and is relegated to astair-landing, one may use one's eyes without restriction. Do you remembermy pointing out Hester Keyes' 'fellow'? But of course you didn't pay muchattention to him after Billy Kinkaid sailed into your vision! But I enviedHester Keyes her eighteen years--and Trevison Brandon! He had the blackesteyes and hair! And he simply adored Hester! It made me feel positivelysavage when I heard shortly afterward that she had thrown him over--afterhis father cut him off--to take up with that fellow Harvey--I never couldremember his first name. And she married Harvey--and regretted it, untilHarvey died. "Ruth, Trevison Brandon is out here. He calls himself 'Brand' Trevison. Imet him two days ago, and I did not recognize him, he has changed so much. He puzzled me quite a little; but not even when I heard his name did Iconnect him with the man I had seen at Hester's party. Ten years is _such_a long time, isn't it? And I never did have much of a memory for names. But today he went with me to a certain ranch--Blakeley's--which, by theway, _father is going to buy_--and on the way we became very muchacquainted, and he told me about his love affair. I placed him instantly, then, and why I didn't keel over was, I suppose, because of the curiousbig saddles they have out here, with enormous wooden _stirrups_ on them. Ican hear you exclaim over that plural, but there are no side-saddles. Thatis how it came that I was unchaperoned--Agatha won't take liberties withthem, the saddles. Thank Heaven!" There followed much more, with only one further reference to Trevison: "He must be nearly thirty now, but he doesn't look it, he's so boyish. Igather, though, that he is regarded as a _man_ out here, where, Iunderstand, manhood is measured by something besides mere appearances. Heowns acres and acres of land--some of it has coal on it; and he is sure tobe enormously wealthy, some day. But I am twenty-four, myself. " The startling irrelevance of this sentence at first surprised RuthGresham, and then caused her eyes to brighten understandingly, as she readthe letter a few days later. She remarked, musingly: "The inevitable hum-drum days, eh? And yet most people long for them. " Another letter was written when the one to Ruth was completed. It was toJ. Chalfant Benham. "DEAR DADDY: "The West is a golden paradise. I could live here many, many years. I visited Mr. Blakeley today. He calls his ranch the Bar B. We wouldn't have to change the brand, would we? Trevison says the ranch is worth all Blakeley asks for it. Mr. Blakeley says we can take possession immediately, so I have decided to stay here. Mrs. Blakeley has invited me, and I am going to have my things taken over tomorrow. Since the Blakeley's are anxious to sell out and return South, don't you think you had better conclude the deal at once? "Lovingly, "ROSALIND. " CHAPTER VIII THE CHAOS OF CREATION The West saw many "boom" towns. They followed in the wake of "goldstrikes;" they grew, mushroom-like, overnight--garish husks of squalor, palpitating, hardy, a-tingle with extravagant hopes. A few, it is true, lived to become substantial cities buzzing with the American spirit, panting, fighting for progress with an energy that shamed the Old World, lethargic in its smug and self-sufficient superiority. But many towns diedin their gangling youth, tragic monuments to hopes; but monuments also toeffort, and to the pioneer courage and the dreams of an empire-buildingpeople. Manti was destined to live. It was a boom town with material reasons forsubstantial growth. Behind it were the resources of a railroad companywhich would anticipate the development of a section of country bigger thana dozen Old-world states, and men with brains keen enough to realize thecommercial possibilities it held. It had Corrigan for an advanceagent--big, confident, magnetic, energetic, suave, smooth. Manti had awaited his coming; he was the magic force, the fulfillment ofthe rumored promise. He had stayed away for three weeks, following hisdeparture on the special car after bringing Judge Lindman, and when hestepped off the car again at the end of that time Manti was "humming, " ashe had predicted. During the three weeks of his absence, the switch atManti had never been unoccupied. Trains had been coming in regularlybearing merchandise, men, tools, machines, supplies. Engineers hadarrived; the basin near Manti, choked by a narrow gorge at its westerlyend (where the dam was to be built) was dotted with tents, wagons, diggingimplements, a miscellany of material whose hauling had worn a rutted trailover the plains and on the slope of the basin, continually active withwagon-train and pack horse, and articulate with sweating, cursingdrivers. "She's a pippin!" gleefully confided a sleek-looking individual who mighthave been mistaken for a western "parson" had it not been for a certainsophisticated cynicism that was prominent about him, and which imparted adistasteful taint of his profession. "Give me a year of this and I'll opena joint in Frisco! I cleaned out a brace of bull-whackers in the _Plaza_last night--their first pay. Afterward I stung a couple of cattlemen for ahundred each. Look at her hum!" Notwithstanding that it was midday, Manti was teeming with life andaction. Since the day that Miss Benham had viewed the town from the windowof the private car, Manti had added more than a hundred buildings to itstotal. They were not attractive; they were ludicrous in their pitifulmasquerade of substantial types. Here and there a three-story structurereared aloft, sheathed with galvanized iron, a garish aristocrat seeminglyconscious of its superiority, brazen, in its bid for attention; moremodest buildings seemed dwarfed, humiliated, squatting sullenly andenviously. There were hotels, rooming-houses, boarding-houses, stores, dwellings, saloons--and others which for many reasons need not bementioned. But they were pulsating with life, electric, eager, expectant. Taking advantage of the scarcity of buildings, an enterprising citizen haderected tents in rows on the street line, for whose shelter he chargedenormously--and did a capacity business. "A hundred came in on the last train, " complained the over-worked stationagent. "God knows what they all expect to do here!" Corrigan had kept his promise to build Judge Lindman a courthouse. It wasa flat-roofed structure, one story high, wedged between a saloon andBraman's bank building. A sign in the front window of Braman's bankannounced that Jefferson Corrigan, agent of the Land & ImprovementCompany, of New York, had office space within, but on the morning of theday following his return to Manti, Corrigan was seated at one side of aflat-top desk in the courthouse, talking with Judge Lindman, who sat atthe other side. "Got them all transcribed?" asked Corrigan. The Judge drew a thin ledger from his desk and passed it over to Corrigan. As Corrigan turned the pages and his face lighted, the Judge's grewcorrespondingly troubled. "All right, " exulted Corrigan. "This purports to be an accurate and truerecord of all the land transactions in this section from the special grantto the Midland Company, down to date. It shows no intermediate owners fromthe Midland Company to the present claimants. As a document arraigningcarelessness on the part of land buyers it cannot be excelled. There isn'ta present owner that has a legal leg to stand on!" "There is only one weak point in your case, " said the Judge, and his eyesgleamed with satisfaction, which he concealed by bowing his head. "It isthat since these records show no sale of its property by the MidlandCompany, the Midland Company can come forward and re-establish itstitle. " Corrigan laughed and flipped a legal-looking paper in front of the Judge. The latter opened it and read, showing eagerness. He laid it down afterreading, his hands trembling. "It shows that the Midland Company--James Marchmont, president--transferred to Jefferson Corrigan, on a date prior to theseother transactions, one-hundred thousand acres of land here--the MidlandCompany's entire holdings. Why, man, it is forgery!" "No, " said Corrigan quietly. "James Marchmont is alive. He signed his nameright where it is. He'll confirm it, too, for he happens to be insomething of the fix that you are in. Therefore, there being no records ofany sales on your books--as revised, of course--" he laughed; "JeffCorrigan is the legal possessor of one-hundred thousand acres of landright in the heart of what is going to be the boom section of the West!"He chuckled, lit a cigar, leaned back in his chair and looked at theJudge. "All you have to do now is to enter that transaction on yourrecords. " "You don't expect the present owners to yield their titles without afight, do you?" asked the Judge. He spoke breathlessly. Corrigan grunted. "Sure; they'll fight. But they'll lose. I've got them. I've got the power--the courts--the law, behind me. I've got them, andI'll squeeze them. It means a mint of money, man. It will make you. It'sthe biggest thing that any man ever attempted to pull off in thiscountry!" "Yes, it's big, " groaned the Judge; "it's stupendous! It's frightful! Why, man, if anything goes wrong, it would mean--" He paused and shivered. Corrigan smiled contemptuously. "Where's the original record?" he asked. "I destroyed it, " said the Judge. He did not look at Corrigan. "How?"demanded the latter. "Burned it. " "Good. " Corrigan rubbed his palms together. "It's too soon to startanything. Things are booming, and some of these owners will be trying tosell. Hold them off--don't record anything. Give them any excuse thatcomes to your mind. Have you heard from Washington?" "The establishment of the court here has been confirmed. " "Quick work, " laughed Corrigan. He got up, murmuring something abouthaving to take care of some leases. When he turned, it was to start andstand rigid, his jaws set, his face pale. A man stood in the opendoorway--a man of about fifty apparently, furtive-eyed, slightly shabby, though with an atmosphere about him that hinted of past dignity ofcarriage. "Jim Marchmont!" said Corrigan. He stepped forward, threateningly, hisface dark with wrath. Without speaking another word he seized the newcomerby the coat collar, snapping his head back savagely, and dragged him backof a wooden partition. Concealed there from any of the curious in thestreet, he jammed Marchmont against the wall of the building, held himthere with one hand and stuck a huge fist into his face. "What in hell are you doing here?" he demanded. "Come clean, or I'll tearyou apart!" The other laughed, but there was no mirth in it, and his thin lips werecurved queerly, and were stiff and white. "Don't get excited, Jeff, " hesaid; "it won't be healthy. " And Corrigan felt something hard and coldagainst his shirt front. He knew it was a pistol and he released his holdand stepped back. "Speaking of coming clean, " said Marchmont. "You crossed me. You told meyou were going to sell the Midland land to two big ranch-owners. I findthat you're going to cut it up into lots and make big money--loads of it. You handed me a measly thousand. You stand to make millions. I want mydivvy. " "You've got your nerve, " scoffed Corrigan. "You got your bit when you soldthe Midland before. You're a self-convicted crook, and if you make a peepout here I'll send you over the road for a thousand years!" "Another thousand now, " said Marchmont: "and ten more when you commence tocash in. Otherwise, a thousand years or not, I'll start yapping here andqueer your game. " Corrigan's lips were in an ugly pout. For an instant it seemed he wasgoing to defy his visitor. Then without a word to him he stepped aroundthe partition, walked out the door and entered the bank. A few minuteslater he passed a bundle of greenbacks to Marchmont and escorted him tothe front door, where he stood, watching, his face unpleasant, untilMarchmont vanished into one of the saloons. "That settles _you_, you damned fool!" he said. He stepped down into the street and went into the bank. Braman fawned onhim, smirking insincerely. Corrigan had not apologized for striking theblow, had never mentioned it, continuing his former attitude toward thebanker as though nothing had happened. But Braman had not forgiven him. Corrigan wasted no words: "Who's the best gun-man in this section?" Braman studied a minute. "Clay Levins, " he said, finally. "Can you find him?" "Why, he's in town today; I saw him not more than fifteen minutes ago, going into the _Elk_!" "Find him and bring him here--by the back way, " directed Corrigan. Braman went out, wondering. A few minutes later he returned, coming in atthe front door, smiling with triumph. Shortly afterward Corrigan wasopening the rear door on a tall, slender man of thirty-five, with a thinface, a mouth that drooped at the corners, and alert, furtive eyes. Hewore a heavy pistol at his right hip, low, the bottom of the holster tiedto the leather chaps, and as Corrigan closed the door he noted that theman's right hand lingered close to the butt of the weapon. "That's all right, " said Corrigan; "you're perfectly safe here. " He talked in low tones to the man, so that Braman could not hear. Levinsdeparted shortly afterwards, grinning crookedly, tucking a piece of paperinto a pocket, upon which Corrigan had transcribed something that had beenwritten on the cuff of his shirt sleeve. Corrigan went to his desk andbusied himself with some papers. Over in the courthouse, Judge Lindmantook from a drawer in his desk a thin ledger--a duplicate of the one hehad shown Corrigan--and going to the rear of the room opened the door ofan iron safe and stuck the ledger out of sight under a mass of legalpapers. * * * * * When Marchmont left Corrigan he went straight to the _Plaza_, where heordered a lunch and ate heartily. After finishing his meal he emerged fromthe saloon and stood near one of the front windows. One of the hundreddollar bills that Corrigan had given him he had "broke" in the _Plaza_, getting bills of small denomination in change, and in his right trousers'pocket was a roll that bulked comfortably in his hand. The feel of it madehim tingle with satisfaction, as, except for the other thousand thatCorrigan had given him some months ago, it was the only money he had hadfor a long time. He knew he should take the next train out of Manti; thathe had done a hazardous thing in baiting Corrigan, but he was lonesome andyearned for the touch and voice of the crowds that thronged in and out ofthe saloons and the stores, and presently he joined them, wandering fromsaloon to saloon, drinking occasionally, his content and satisfactionincreasing in proportion to the quantity of liquor he drank. And then, at about three o'clock, in the barroom of the _Plaza_, he hearda discordant voice at his elbow. He saw men crowding, jostling one anotherto get away from the spot where he stood--crouching, pale of face, theireyes on him. It made him feel that he was the center of interest, and hewheeled, staggering a little--for he had drunk much more than he hadintended--to see what had happened. He saw Clay Levins standing close tohim, his thin lips in a cruel curve, his eyes narrowed and glittering, hisbody in a suggestive crouch. The silence that had suddenly descended smoteMarchmont's ears like a momentary deafness, and he looked foolishly aroundhim, uncertain, puzzled. Levins' voice shocked him, sobered him, whitenedhis face: "Fork over that coin you lifted from me in the _Elk_, you light-fingeredhound!" said Levins. Marchmont divined the truth now. He made his second mistake of the day. Heallowed a flash of rage to trick him into reaching for his pistol. He gotit into his hand and almost out of the pocket before Levins' first bulletstruck him, and before he could draw it entirely out the second savagebark of the gun in Levins' hand shattered the stillness of the room. Soundlessly, his face wreathed in a grin of hideous satire, Marchmont sankto the floor and stretched out on his back. Before his body was still, Levins had drawn out the bills that had reposedin his victim's pocket. Crumpling them in his hand he walked to the barand tossed them to the barkeeper. "Look at 'em, " he directed. "I'm provin' they're mine. Good thing I gotthe numbers on 'em. " While the crowd jostled and crushed about him he readthe numbers from the paper Corrigan had given him, grinning coldly as thebarkeeper confirmed them. A deputy sheriff elbowed his way through thepress to Levins' side, and the gun-man spoke to him, lightly: "I reckoneverybody saw him reach for his gun when I told him to fork the coinover, " he said, indicating his victim. "So you ain't got nothin' on me. But if you're figgerin' that the coin ain't mine, why I reckon a guy namedCorrigan will back up my play. " The deputy took him at his word. They found Corrigan at his desk in thebank building. "Sure, " he said when the deputy had told his story; "I paid Levins themoney this morning. Is it necessary for you to know what for? No? Well, itseems that the pickpocket got just what he deserved. " He offered thedeputy a cigar, and the latter went out, satisfied. Later, Corrigan looked appraisingly at Levins, who still graced theoffice. "That was rather an easy job, " he said. "Marchmont was slow with a gun. With a faster man--a man, say--" he appeared to meditate "--like Trevison, for instance. You'd have to be pretty careful--" "Trevison's my friend, " grinned Levins coldly as he got to his feet. "There's nothin' doin' there--understand? Get it out of your brain-box, for if anything happens to 'Firebrand, ' I'll perforate you sure as hell!" He stalked out of the office, leaving Corrigan looking after him, frowningly. CHAPTER IX STRAIGHT TALK Ten years of lonesomeness, of separation from all the things he held dear, with nothing for his soul to feed upon except the bitterness he got from acontemplation of the past; with nothing but his pride and hisdetermination to keep him from becoming what he had seen many men in thiscountry become--dissolute irresponsibles, drifting like ships withoutrudders--had brought into Trevison's heart a great longing. He was like aman who for a long time has been deprived of the solace of good tobacco, and--to use a simile that he himself manufactured--he yearned to capturesomeone from the East, sit beside him and fill his lungs, his brain, hisheart, his soul, with the breath, the aroma, the spirit of the land of hisyouth. The appearance of Miss Benham at Manti had thrilled him. For tenyears he had seen no eastern woman, and at sight of her the old hunger ofthe soul became acute in him, aroused in him a passionate worship thatmade his blood run riot. It was the call of sex to sex, made doublystirring by the girl's beauty, her breeziness, her virile, alluringwomanhood--by the appeal she made to the love of the good and the true inhis character. His affection for Hester Keyes, he had long known, had beenmerely the vanity-tickling regard of the callow youth--the sex attractionof adolescence, the "puppy" love that smites all youth alike. For RosalindBenham a deeper note had been struck. Its force rocked him, intoxicatedhim; his head rang with the music it made. During the three weeks of her stay at Blakeley's they had been muchtogether. Rosalind had accepted his companionship as a matter of course. He had told her many things about his past, and was telling her many morethings, as they sat today on an isolated excrescence of sand and rock andbunch grass surrounded by a sea of sage. From where they sat they couldsee Manti--Manti, alive, athrob, its newly-come hundreds busy as ants withtheir different pursuits. The intoxication of the girl's presence had never been so great as it wastoday. A dozen times, drunken with the nearness of her, with the delicateodor from her hair, as a stray wisp fluttered into his face, he had comevery near to catching her in his arms. But he had grimly mastered thefeeling, telling himself that he was not a savage, and that such an actionwould be suicidal to his hopes. It cost him an effort, though, to restrainhimself, as his flushed face, his burning eyes and his labored breath, told. His broken wrist had healed. His hatred of Corrigan had been kept alive bya recollection of the fight, by a memory of the big man's quickness totake advantage of the banker's foul trick, and by the passion for revengethat had seized him, that held him in a burning clutch. Jealousy of thebig man he would not have admitted; but something swelled his chest whenhe thought of Corrigan coming West in the same car with the girl--a vague, gnawing something that made his teeth clench and his facial muscles cord. Rosalind had not told him that she had recognized him, that during the tenyears of his exile he had been her ideal, but she could close her eyes atthis minute and imagine herself on the stair-landing at Hester Keyes'party, could feel the identical wave of thrilling admiration that hadpassed over her when her gaze had first rested on him. Yes, it hadsurvived, that girlhood passion, but she had grown much older andexperienced, and she could not let him see what she felt. But hercuriosity was keener than ever; in no other man of her acquaintance hadshe felt this intense interest. "I remember you telling me the other day that your men would have usedtheir rifles, had the railroad company attempted to set men to work in thecut. I presume you must have given them orders to shoot. I can'tunderstand you. You were raised in the East, your parents are wealthy; itis presumed they gave you advantages--in fact, you told me they had sentyou to college. You must have learned respect for the law while there. Andyet you would have had your men resist forcibly. " "I told you before that I respected the law--so long as the law is justand the fellow I'm fighting is governed by it. But I refuse to fight undera rule that binds one of my hands, while my opponent sails into me withboth hands free. I've never been a believer in the doctrine of 'turn theother cheek. ' We are made with a capacity for feeling, and it boils, unrestrained, in me. I never could play the hypocrite; I couldn't say 'no'when I thought 'yes' and make anybody believe it. I couldn't lie and evadeand side-step, even to keep from getting licked. I always told the truthand expressed my feelings in language as straight, simple, and direct as Icould. It wasn't always the discreet way. Perhaps it wasn't always thewise way. I won't argue that. But it was the only way I knew. It caused mea lot of trouble--I was always in trouble. My record in college would makea prize fighter turn green with envy. I'm not proud of what I've made ofmy life. But I haven't changed. I do what my heart prompts me to do, and Isay what I think, regardless of consequences. " "That would be a very good method--if everybody followed it, " said thegirl. "Unfortunately, it invites enmity. Subtlety will take you farther inthe world. " She was smitten with an impulse, unwise, unconventional. Butthe conventions! The East seemed effete and far. Besides, she spokelightly: "Let us be perfectly frank, then. I think that perhaps you take yourselftoo seriously. Life is a tragedy to the tragic, a joke to the humorous, adrab canvas to the unimaginative. It all depends upon what temperament onesees it through. I dare say that I see you differently than you seeyourself. 'O wad some power the giftie gi'e us to see oursel's as itherssee us', " she quoted, and laughed at the queer look in his eyes, for hisadmiration for her had leaped like a living thing at her bubbling spirits, and he was, figuratively, forced to place his heel upon it. "I confess itseems to me that you take a too tragic view of things, " she went on. "Youare like D'Artagnan, always eager to fly at somebody's throat. Possibly, you don't give other people credit for unselfish motives; you are toosuspicious; and what you call plain talk may seem impertinence toothers--don't you think? In any event, people don't like to hear the truthtold about themselves--especially by a big, earnest, sober-faced man whoseems to speak with conviction, and, perhaps, authority. I think you lookfor trouble, instead of trying to evade it. I think, too, " she said, looking straight at him, "that you face the world in a too physicalfashion; that you place too much dependence upon brawn and fire. That, following your own method of speaking your mind, is what I think of you. Itremble to imagine what you think of me for speaking so plainly. " He laughed, his voice vibrating, and bold passion gleamed in his eyes. Helooked fairly at her, holding her gaze, compelling it with the intensityof his own, and she drew a deep, tremulous breath of understanding. Therefollowed a tense, breathless silence. And then-- "You've brought it on yourself, " he said. "I love you. You are going tomarry me--someday. That's what I think of you!" [Illustration: "YOU ARE GOING TO MARRY ME--SOME DAY. THAT'SWHAT I THINK OF YOU!"] She got to her feet, her cheeks flaming, confused, half-frightened, thougha fierce exultation surged within her. She had half expected this, halfdreaded it, and now that it had burst upon her in such volcanic fashionshe realized that she had not been entirely prepared. She sought refuge inbanter, facing him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes dancing. "'Firebrand, '" she said. "The name fits you--Mr. Carson was right. Iwarned you--if you remember--that you placed too much dependence on brawnand fire. You are making it very hard for me to see you again. " He had risen too, and stood before her, and he now laughed frankly. "I told you I couldn't play the hypocrite. I have said what I think. Iwant you. But that doesn't mean that I am going to carry you away to themountains. I've got it off my mind, and I promise not to mention itagain--until you wish it. But don't forget that some day you are going tolove me. " "How marvelous, " said she, tauntingly, though in her confusion she couldnot meet his gaze, looking downward. "How do you purpose to bring itabout?" "By loving you so strongly that you can't help yourself. " "With your confidence--" she began. But he interrupted, laughing: "We're going to forget it, now, " he said. "I promised to show you that_Pueblo_, and we'll have just about time enough to make it and back to theBar B before dark. " And they rode away presently, chatting on indifferent subjects. And, keeping his promise, he said not another word about his declaration. Butthe girl, stealing glances at him, wondered much--and reached nodecision. When they reached the abandoned Indian village, many of its houses stillstanding, he laughed. "That would make a dandy fort. " "Always thinking of fighting, " she mocked. But her eyes flashed as shelooked at him. CHAPTER X THE SPIRIT OF MANTI The Benham private car had clacked eastward over the rails three weeksbefore, bearing with it as a passenger only the negro autocrat. At thelast moment, discovering that she could not dissuade Rosalind from her maddecision to stay at Blakeley's ranch, Agatha had accompanied her. Theprivate car was now returning, bearing the man who had poetically declaredto his fawning Board of Directors: "Our railroad is the magic wand thatwill make the desert bloom like the rose. We are embarked upon a project, gentlemen, so big, so vast, that it makes even your president feel a pulseof pride. This project is nothing more nor less than the opening of aregion of waste country which an all-wise Creator has permitted to slumberfor ages, for no less purpose than to reserve it to the horny-handed sonof toil of our glorious country. It will awaken to the clarion call of ourwealth, our brains, and our genius. " He then mentioned Corrigan and theMidland grant--another reservation of Providence, which a credulous andasinine Congress had bestowed, in fee-simple, upon a certain suavegentleman, named Marchmont--and disseminated such other details as aservile board of directors need know; and then he concluded with a floweryperoration that left his hearers smirking fatuously. And today J. Chalfant Benham was come to look upon the first fruits of hisefforts. As he stepped down from the private car he was greeted by vociferouscheers from a jostling and enthusiastic populace--for J. C. Had verycarefully wired the time of his arrival and Corrigan had actedaccordingly, knowing J. C. Well. J. C. Was charmed--he said so, later, in a speech from a flimsy, temporary stand erected in the middle of thestreet in front of the _Plaza_--and in saying so he merely told thetruth. For, next to money-making, adulation pleased him most. He wouldhave been an able man had he ignored the latter passion. It seared hisintellect as a pernicious habit blasts the character. It sat on hisshoulders--extravagantly squared; it shone in his eyes--invitinginspection; his lips, curved with smug complacence, betrayed it as, sitting in Corrigan's office after the conclusion of the festivities, he smiled at the big man. "Manti is a wonderful town--a _wonderful_ town!" he declared. "It may besaid that success is lurking just ahead. And much of the credit is due toyour efforts, " he added, generously. Corrigan murmured a polite disclaimer, and plunged into dry details. J. C. Had a passion for dry details. For many hours they sat in the office, their heads close together. Braman was occasionally called in. JudgeLindman was summoned after a time. J. C. Shook the Judge's hand warmly andthen resumed his chair, folding his chubby hands over his corpulentstomach. "Judge Lindman, " he said; "you thoroughly understand our position in thisMidland affair. " The Judge glanced at Corrigan. "Thoroughly. " "No doubt there will be some contests. But the present claimants have nolegal status. Mr. -- (here J. C. Mentioned a name that made the Judge'seyes brighten) tells me there will be no hitch. There could not be, ofcourse. In the absence of any court record of possible transfers, thetitle to the land, of course, reverts to the Midland Company. As Mr. Corrigan has explained to me, he is entirely within his rights, havingsecured the title to the land from Mr. Marchmont, representing theMidland. You have no record of any transfers from the Midland to thepresent claimants or their predecessors, have you? There is no suchrecord?" The Judge saw Corrigan's amused grin, and surmised that J. C. Was merelyplaying with him. "No, " he said, with some bitterness. "Then of course you are going to stand with Mr. Corrigan against thepresent claimants?" "I presume so. " "H'm, " said J. C. "If there is any doubt about it, perhaps I had betterremind you--" The Judge groaned in agony of spirit. "It won't be necessary to remindme. " "So I thought. Well, gentlemen--" J. C. Arose "--that will be all for thisevening. " Thus he dismissed the Judge, who went to his cot behind a partition in thecourthouse, while Corrigan and J. C. Stepped outside and walked slowlytoward the private car. They lingered at the steps, and presently J. C. Called and a negro came out with two chairs. J. C. And Corrigan drapedthemselves in the chairs and smoked. Dusk was settling over Manti; lightsappeared in the windows of the buildings; a medley of noises reached theears of the two men. By day Manti was lively enough, by night it was amaelstrom of frenzied action. A hundred cow-ponies were hitched to railsthat skirted the street in front of store and saloon; cowboys fromranches, distant and near, rollicked from building to building, touchingelbows with men less picturesquely garbed; the strains of crude musicsmote the flat, dead desert air; yells, shouts, laughter filtered throughthe bedlam; an engine, attached to a train of cars on the main track nearthe private car, wheezed steam in preparation for its eastward trip, soonto begin. Benham had solemn thoughts, sitting there, watching. "That crowd wouldn't have much respect for law. They're living at such apitch that they'd lose their senses entirely if any sudden crisis shouldarise. I'd feel my way carefully, Corrigan--if I were you. " Corrigan laughed deeply. "Don't lose any sleep over it. There are fiftydeputy marshals in that crowd--and they're heeled. The rear room in thebank building is a young arsenal. " Benham started. "How on earth--" he began. "Law and order, " smiled Corrigan. "A telegram did it. The territory wantsa reputation for safety. " "By the way, " said Benham, after a silence; "I _had_ to take that Trevisonaffair out of your hands. We don't want to antagonize the man. He will bevaluable to us--later. " "How?" "Carrington, the engineer I sent out here to look over the country beforewe started work, did considerable nosing around Trevison's land while inthe vicinity. He told me there were unmistakable signs of coal of a goodquality and enormous quantity. We ought to be able to drive a good bargainwith Trevison one of these days--if we handle him carefully. " Corrigan frowned and grunted. "His land is included in that of the Midlandgrant. He shall be treated like the others. If that is your onlyobjection--" "It isn't, " said Benham. "I have discovered that 'Brand' Trevison isreally Trevison Brandon, the disgraced son of Orrin Brandon, themillionaire. " The darkness hid Corrigan's ugly pout. "How did you discover that?" hesaid, coolly, after a little. "My daughter mentioned it in one of her letters to me. I confirmed, byquizzing Brandon, senior. Brandon is powerful and obstinate. If he shoulddiscover what our game is he would fight us to the last ditch. The wholething would go to smash, perhaps. " "You didn't tell him about his son being out here?" "Certainly not!" "Good!" "What do you mean?" "That it's my land; that I'm going to take it away from Trevison, fatheror no father. I'm going to break him. That's what I mean!" Corrigan's bighands were clenched on the arms of his chair; his eyes gleamed balefullyin the semi-darkness. J. C. Felt a tremor of awed admiration for him. Helaughed, nervously. "Well, " he said, "if you think you can handle it--" They sat there for a long time, smoking in silence. One thought dominatedCorrigan's mind: "Three weeks, and exchanging confidences--damn him!" * * * * * A discordant note floated out of the medley of sound in palpitating Manti, sailed over the ridiculous sky line and smote the ears of the two on theplatform. The air rocked an instant later with a cheer, loud, pregnantwith enthusiasm. And then a mass of men, close-packed, undulating, moveddown the street toward the private car. Benham's face whitened and he rose from his chair. "Good God!" he said;"what's happened?" He felt Corrigan's hand on his shoulder, forcing himback into his chair. "It can't concern us, " said the big man; "wait; we'll know pretty soon. Something's broke loose. " The two men watched--Benham breathless, wide-eyed; Corrigan with close-setlips and out-thrust chin. The mass moved fast. It passed the _Plaza_, farup the street, receiving additions each second as men burst out of doorsand dove to the fringe; and grew in front as other men skittered into it, hanging to its edge and adding to the confusion. But Corrigan noted thatthe mass had a point, like a wedge, made by three men who seemed to leadit. Something familiar in the stature and carriage of one of the menstruck Corrigan, and he strained his eyes into the darkness the better tosee. He could be sure of the identity of the man, presently, and he sethis jaws tighter and continued to watch, with bitter malignance in hisgaze, for the man was Trevison. There was no mistaking the broadshoulders, the set of the head, the big, bold and confident poise of theman. At the point of the wedge he looked what he was--the leader; hedominated the crowd; it became plain to Corrigan as the mass moved closerthat he was intent on something that had aroused the enthusiasm of hisfollowers, for there were shouts of: "That's the stuff! Give it to them!Run 'em out!" For an instant as the crowd passed the _Elk_ saloon, its lights revealingfaces in its glare, Corrigan thought its destination was the private car, and his hand went to his hip. It was withdrawn an instant later, though, when the leader swerved and marched toward the train on the main track. Inthe light also, Corrigan saw something that gave him a hint of thesignificance of it all. His laugh broke the tension of the moment. "It's Denver Ed and Poker Charley, " he said to Benham. "It's likelythey've been caught cheating and have been invited to make themselvesscarce. " And he laughed again, with slight contempt, at Benham's sigh ofrelief. The mass surged around the rear coach of the train. There was somelaughter, mingled with jeers, and while this was at its height a man brokefrom the mass and walked rapidly toward Corrigan and Benham. It wasBraman. Corrigan questioned him. "It's two professional gamblers. They've been fleecing Manti's easy markswith great facility. Tonight they had Clay Levins in the back room of the_Belmont_. He had about a thousand dollars (the banker looked at Corriganand closed an eye), and they took it away from him. It looked square, andLevins didn't kick. Couldn't anyway--he's lying in the back room of the_Belmont_ now, paralyzed. I think that somebody told Levins' wife abouthim shooting Marchmont yesterday, and Mrs. Levins likely sent Trevisonafter hubby--knowing hubby's appetite for booze. Levins isn't giving thewoman a square deal, so far as that is concerned, " went on the banker;"she and the kids are in want half the time, and I've heard thatTrevison's helped them out on quite a good many occasions. Anyway, Trevison appeared in town this afternoon, looking for Levins. Before hefound him he heard these two beauties framing up on him. That's theresult--the two beauties go out. The crowd was for stringing them up, butTrevison wouldn't have it. " "Marchmont?" interrupted Benham. "It isn't possible--" "Why not?" grinned Corrigan. "Yes, sir, the former president of theMidland Company was shot to death yesterday for pocket-picking. " "Lord!" said Benham. "So Levins' wife sent Trevison for hubby, " said Corrigan, quietly. "She's_that_ thick with Trevison, is she?" "Get that out of your mind, Jeff, " returned the banker, noting Corrigan'stone. "Everybody that knows of the case will tell you that everything'sstraight there. " "Well, " Corrigan laughed, "I'm glad to hear it. " The train steamed away as they talked, and the crowd began to break up andscatter toward the saloons. Before that happened, however, there was agreat jam around Trevison; he was shaking hands right and left. Voicesshouted that he was "all there!" As he started away he was forced to shovehis way through the press around him. Benham had been watching closely this evidence of Trevison's popularity;he linked it with some words that his daughter had written to himregarding the man, and as a thought formed in his mind he spoke it. "I'd reconsider about hooking up with that man Trevison, Corrigan. He'sone of those fellows that win popularity easily, and it won't do you anygood to antagonize him. " "That's all right, " laughed Corrigan, coldly. CHAPTER XI FOR THE "KIDDIES" Trevison dropped from Nigger at the dooryard of Levins' cabin, and lookedwith a grim smile at Levins himself lying face downward across the saddleon his own pony. He had carried Levins out of the _Belmont_ and had thrownhim, as he would have thrown a sack of meal, across the saddle, where hehad lain during the four-mile ride, except during two short intervals inwhich Trevison had lifted him off and laid him flat on the ground, torest. Trevison had meditated, not without a certain wry humor, upon thestrength and the protracted potency of Manti's whiskey, for not onceduring his home-coming had Levins shown the slightest sign of returningconsciousness. He was as slack as a meal sack now, as Trevison lifted himfrom the pony's back and let him slip gently to the ground at his feet. Afew minutes later, Trevison was standing in the doorway of the cabin, hisburden over his shoulder, the weak glare of light from within the cabinstabbing the blackness of the night and revealing him to the white-facedwoman who had answered his summons. Her astonishment had been of the mute, agonized kind; her eyes, hollow, eloquent with unspoken misery and resignation, would have told Trevisonthat this was not the first time, had he not known from personalobservation. She stood watching, gulping, shame and mortification bringingpatches of color into her cheeks, as Trevison carried Levins into abedroom and laid him down, removing his boots. She was standing near thedoor when Trevison came out of the bedroom; she was facing the blacknessof the desert night--a blacker future, unknowingly--and Trevison halted onthe threshold of the bedroom door and set his teeth in sympathy. For thewoman deserved better treatment. He had known her for several years--sincethe time when Levins, working for him, had brought her from a ranch on theother side of the Divide, announcing their marriage. It had been adifferent Levins, then, as it was a different wife who stood at the doornow. She had faded; the inevitable metamorphosis wrought by neglect, worryand want, had left its husks--a wan, tired-looking woman of thirty who hadonly her hopes to nourish her soul. There were children, too--if that wereany consolation. Trevison saw them as he glanced around the cabin. Theywere in another bed; through an archway he could see their chubby faces. His lungs filled and his lips straightened. But he grinned presently, in an effort to bring cheer into the cabin, reaching into a pocket and bringing out the money he had recovered forLevins. "There are nearly a thousand dollars here. Two tin-horn gamblers tried totake it from Clay, but I headed them off. Tell Clay--" Mrs. Levins' face whitened; it was more money than she had ever seen atone time. "Clay's?" she interrupted, perplexedly. "Why, where--" "I haven't the slightest idea--but he had it, they tried to take it awayfrom him--it's here now--it belongs to you. " He shoved it into her handsand stepped back, smiling at the stark wonder and joy in her eyes. He sawthe joy vanish--concern and haunting worry came into her eyes. "They told me that Clay shot--killed--a man yesterday. Is it true?" Shecast a fearing look at the bed where the children lay. "The damned fools!" "Then it's true!" She covered her face with her hands, the money in them. Then she took the hands away and looked at the money in them, loathingly. "Do you think Clay--" "No!" he said shortly, anticipating. "That couldn't be. For the man Claykilled had this money on him. Clay accused him of picking his pocket. Claygave the bartender in the _Plaza_ the number of each bill before he sawthem after taking the bills out of the pickpocket's clothing. So it can'tbe as you feared. " She murmured incoherently and pressed both hands to her breast. He laughedand walked to the door. "Well, you need it, you and the kiddies. I'm glad to have been of someservice to you. Tell Clay he owes me something for cartage. If there isanything I can do for you and Clay and the kiddies I'd be only too glad. " "Nothing--now, " said the woman, gratitude shining from her eyes, minglingwith a worried gleam. "Oh!" she added, passionately; "if Clay was onlydifferent! Can't you help him to be strong, Mr. Trevison? Like you? Can'tyou be with him more, to try to keep him straight for the sake of thechildren?" "Clay's odd, lately, " Trevison frowned. "He seems to have changed a lot. I'll do what I can, of course. " He stepped out of the door and then lookedback, calling: "I'll put Clay's pony away. Good night. " And the darknessclosed around him. * * * * * Over at Blakeley's ranch, J. C. Benham had just finished an inspection ofthe interior and had sank into the depths of a comfortable chair facinghis daughter. Blakeley and his wife had retired, the deal that would placethe ranch in possession of Benham having been closed. J. C. Gazedcritically at his daughter. "Like it here, eh?" he said. "Well, you look it. " He shook a finger ather. "Agatha has been writing to me rather often, lately, " he added. Therefollowed no answer and J. C. Went on, narrowing his eyes at the girl. "Shetells me that this fellow who calls himself 'Brand' Trevison has provenhimself a--shall we say, persistent?--escort on your trips of inspectionaround the ranch. " Rosalind's face slowly crimsoned. "H'm, " said Benham. "I thought Corrigan--" he began. The girl's eyes chilled. "H'm, " said Benham, again. CHAPTER XII EXPOSED TO THE SUNLIGHT It was a month before Trevison went to town, again. Only once during thattime did he see Rosalind Benham, for the Blakeleys had vacated, and goodsand servants had arrived from the East and needed attention. Rosalindpresided at the Bar B ranchhouse, under Agatha's chaperonage, and she hadinvited Trevison to visit her whenever the mood struck him. He had been inthe mood many times, but had found no opportunity, for the variousactivities of range work claimed his attention. After a critical survey ofManti and vicinity, J. C. Had climbed aboard his private car to be whiskedto New York, where he reported to his Board of Directors that Manti wouldone day be one of the greatest commercial centers of the West. Vague rumors of a legal tangle involving the land around Manti had reachedTrevison's ears, and this morning he had jumped on Nigger, determined torun the rumors down. He made a wide swing, following the river, which tookhim miles from his own property and into the enormous basin which one daythe engineers expected to convert into a mammoth lake from which thethirst of many dry acres of land was to be slaked; and halting Nigger nearthe mouth of the gorge, watched the many laborers, directed by variousgrades of bosses, at work building the foundation of the dam. Later, hecrossed the basin, followed the well-beaten trail up the slope to thelevel, and shortly he was in Hanrahan's saloon across the street fromBraman's bank, listening to the plaint of Jim Lefingwell, the Circle Crossowner, whose ranch was east of town. Lefingwell was big, florid, andafflicted with perturbation that was almost painful. So exercised was hethat he was at times almost incoherent. "She's boomin', ain't she? Meanin' this man's town, of course. An' a man'sgot a right to cash in on a boom whenever he gits the chance. Well, I'dfiggered to cash in. I ain't no hawg an' I got savvy enough to perceivewithout the aid of any damn fortune-teller that cattle is done in thiscountry--considered as the main question. I've got a thousand acres ofland--which I paid for in spot cash to Dick Kessler about eight years ago. If Dick was here he'd back me up in that. But he ain't here--the doggonefool went an' died about four years ago, leavin' me unprotected. Well, now, not digressin' any, I gits the idea that I'm goin' to unloadconsid'able of my thousand acres on the sufferin' fools that's yearnin' tocome into this country an' work their heads off raisin' alfalfa an' hawgs, an' cabbages an' sons with Pick-a-dilly collars to be eddicated East an'come back home some day an' lift the mortgage from the oldhomestead--which job they always falls down on--findin' it more to theirlikin' to mortgage their souls to buy jew'l'ry for fast wimmin. Well, notdigressin' any, I run a-foul of a guy last week which was dead set oninvestin' in ten acres of my land, skirtin' one of the irrigation ditcheswhich they're figgerin' on puttin' in. The price I wanted was a heapsatisfyin' to the guy. But he suggests that before he forks over the coinwe go down to the courthouse an' muss up the records to see if my title isclear. Well, not digressin' any, she ain't! She ain't even nowheres cleara-tall--she ain't even there! She's wiped off, slick an' clean! Thereain't a damned line to show that I ever bought my land from Dick Kessler, an' there ain't nothin' on no record to show that Dick Kessler ever ownedit! What in hell do you think of that? "Now, not digressin' any, " he went on as Trevison essayed to speak; "thatain't the worst of it. While I was in there, talkin' to Judge Lindman, this here big guy that you fit with--Corrigan--comes in. I gathers fromthe trend of his remarks that I never had a legal title to my land--thatit belongs to the guy which bought it from the Midland Company--which ishim. Now what in hell do you think of that?" "I knew Dick Kessler, " said Trevison, soberly. "He was honest. " "Square as a dollar!" violently affirmed Lefingwell. "It's too bad, " sympathized Trevison. "That places you in a mighty badfix. If there's anything I can do for you, why--" "Mr. 'Brand' Trevison?" said a voice at Trevison's elbow. Trevison turned, to see a short, heavily built man smiling mildly at him. "I'm a deputy from Judge Lindman's court, " announced the man. "I've got asummons for you. Saw you coming in here--saves me a trip to your place. "He shoved a paper into Trevison's hands, grinned, and went out. For aninstant Trevison stood, looking after the man, wondering how, since theman was a stranger to him, he had recognized him--and then he opened thepaper to discover that he was ordered to appear before Judge Lindman thefollowing day to show cause why he should not be evicted from certaindescribed property held unlawfully by him. The name, Jefferson Corrigan, appeared as plaintiff in the action. Lefingwell was watching Trevison's face closely, and when he saw itwhiten, he muttered, understandingly: "You've got it, too, eh?" "Yes. " Trevison shoved the paper into a pocket. "Looks like you're notgoing to be skinned alone, Lefingwell. Well, so-long; I'll see youlater. " He strode out, leaving Lefingwell slightly stunned over his abruptleave-taking. A minute later he was in the squatty frame courthouse, towering above Judge Lindman, who had been seated at his desk and who hadrisen at his entrance. Trevison shoved the summons under Lindman's nose. "I just got this, " he said. "What does it mean?" "It is perfectly understandable, " the Judge smiled with forced affability. "The plaintiff, Mr. Jefferson Corrigan, is a claimant to the title of theland now held by you. " "Corrigan can have no claim on my land; I bought it five years ago fromold Buck Peters. He got it from a man named Taylor. Corrigan isbluffing. " The Judge coughed and dropped his gaze from the belligerent eyes of theyoung man. "That will be determined in court, " he said. "The entire landtransactions in this county, covering a period of twenty-five years, arerecorded in that book. " And the Judge indicated a ledger on his desk. "I'll take a look at it. " Trevison reached for the ledger, seized it, theJudge protesting, half-heartedly, though with the judicial dignity thathad become habitual from long service in his profession. "This is a high-handed proceeding, young man. You are in contempt ofcourt!" The Judge tried, but could not make his voice ring sincerely. Itseemed to him that this vigorous, clear-eyed young man could see the guiltthat he was trying to hide. Trevison laughed grimly, holding the Judge off with one hand while hesearched the pages of the book, leaning over the desk. He presently closedthe book with a bang and faced the Judge, breathing heavily, his musclesrigid, his eyes cold and glittering. "There's trickery here!" He took the ledger up and slammed it down on thedesk again, his voice vibrating. "Judge Lindman, this isn't a truerecord--it is not the original record! I saw the original record fiveyears ago, when I went personally to Dry Bottom with Buck Peters to havemy deed recorded! This record is a fake--it has been substituted for theoriginal! I demand that you stay proceedings in this matter until a searchcan be made for the original record!" "This is the original record. " Again the Judge tried to make his voicering sincerely, and again he failed. His one mistake had not hardened himand judicial dignity could not help him to conceal his guilty knowledge. He winced as he felt Trevison's burning gaze on him, and could not meetthe young man's eyes, boring like metal points into his consciousness. Trevison sprang forward and seized him by the shoulders. "By God--you know it isn't the original!" The Judge succeeded in meeting Trevison's eyes, but his age, hisvacillating will, his guilt, could not combat the overpowering force andvirility of this volcanic youth, and his gaze shifted and fell. He heard Trevison catch his breath--shrilling it into his lungs in onegreat sob--and then he stood, white and shaking, beside the desk, lookingat Trevison as the young man went out of the door--a laugh on his lips, mirthless, bitter, portending trouble and violence. * * * * * Corrigan was sitting at his desk in the bank building when Trevisonentered the front door. The big man seemed to have been expecting hisvisitor, for just before the latter appeared at the door Corrigan took apistol from a pocket and laid it on the desk beside him, placing a sheetof paper over it. He swung slowly around and faced Trevison, cold interestin his gaze. He nodded shortly as Trevison's eyes met his. In a dozen long strides Trevison was at his side. The young man was pale, his lips were set, he was breathing fast, his nostrils were dilated--hewas at that pitch of excitement in which a word, a look or a movementbrings on action, instantaneous, unrecking of consequences. But heexercised repression that made the atmosphere of the room tingle withtension of the sort that precedes the clash of mighty forces--hedeliberately sat on one corner of Corrigan's desk, one leg dangling, theother resting on the floor, one hand resting on the idle leg, his bodybent, his shoulders drooping a little forward. His voice was dry andlight--Patrick Carson would have said his grin was tiger-like. "So that's the kind of a whelp you are!" he said. Corrigan caught his breath; his hands clenched, his face reddened darkly. He shot a quick glance at the sheet of paper under which he had placed thepistol. Trevison interpreted it, brushed the paper aside, disclosing theweapon. His lips curled; he took the pistol, "broke" it, tossed cartridgesand weapon into a corner of the desk and laughed lowly. "So you were expecting me, " he said. "Well, I'm here. You want my land, eh?" "I want the land that I'm entitled to under the terms of my purchase--theoriginal Midland grant, consisting of one-hundred thousand acres. Itbelongs to me, and I mean to have it!" "You're a liar, Corrigan, " said the young man, holding the other's gazecoldly; "you're a lying, sneaking crook. You have no claim to the land, and you know it!" Corrigan smiled stiffly. "The record of the deal I made with Jim Marchmontyears before any of you people usurped the property is in my pocket atthis minute. The court, here, will uphold it. " Trevison narrowed his eyes at the big man and laughed, bitter humor in thesound. It was as though he had laughed to keep his rage from leaping, naked and murderous, into this discussion. "It takes nerve, Corrigan, to do what you are attempting; it does, byHeaven--sheer, brazen gall! It's been done, though, by little, pettifogging shysters, by piking real-estate crooks--thousands of parcelsof property scattered all over the United States have been filched in thatmanner. But a hundred-thousand acres! It's the biggest steal that ever hasbeen attempted, to my knowledge, short of a Government grab, and yourimagination does you credit. It's easy to see what's been done. You've gota fake title from Marchmont, antedating ours; you've got a crooked judgehere, to befuddle the thing with legal technicalities; you've got themoney, the power, the greed, and the cold-blooded determination. But Idon't think you understand what you're up against--do you? Nearly everyman who owns this land that you want has worked hard for it. It's beenbought with work, man--work and lonesomeness and blood--and souls. And nowyou want to sweep it all away with one stroke. You want to step in hereand reap the benefit; you want to send us out of here, beggars. " His voiceleaped from its repression; it now betrayed the passion that was consuminghim; it came through his teeth: "You can't hand me that sort of a rawdeal, Corrigan, and make me like it. Understand that, right now. You'rebucking the wrong man. You can drag the courts into it; you can wrigglearound a thousand legal corners, but damn you, you can't avert what'sbound to come if you don't lay off this deal, and that's a fight!" Helaughed, full-throated, his voice vibrating from the strength of thepassion that blazed in his eyes. He revealed, for an instant to Corriganthe wild, reckless untamed youth that knew no law save his own impulses, and the big man's eyes widened with the revelation, though he gave noother sign. He leaned back in his chair, smiling coldly, idly flecking abit of ash from his shirt where it had fallen from his cigar. "I am prepared for a fight. You'll get plenty of it before you'rethrough--if you don't lie down and be good. " There was malice in his look, complacent consciousness of his power. More, there was an impulse toreveal to this young man whom he intended to ruin, at least one of themotives that was driving him. He yielded to the impulse. "I'm going to tell you something. I think I would have let you out of thisdeal, if you hadn't been so fresh. But you made a grand-stand play beforethe girl I am going to marry. You showed off your horse to make a bid forher favor. You paraded before her window in the car to attract herattention. I saw you. You rode me down. You'll get no mercy. I'm going tobreak you. I'm going to send you back to your father, Brandon, senior, inworse condition than when you left, ten years ago. " He sneered as Trevisonstarted and stepped on the floor, rigid. "How did you recognize me?" Curiosity had dulled the young man's passion;his tone was hoarse. "How?" Corrigan laughed, mockingly. "Did you think you could repose anyconfidence in a woman you have known only about a month? Did you think shewouldn't tell me--her promised husband? She has told me--everything thatshe succeeded in getting out of you. She is heart and soul with me in thisdeal. She is ambitious. Do you think she would hesitate to sacrifice aclod-hopper like you? She's very clever, Trevison; she's deep, and morethan a match for you in wits. Fight, if you like, you'll get no sympathythere. " Trevison's faith in Miss Benham had received a shock; Corrigan's words hadnot killed it, however. "You're a liar!" he said. Corrigan flushed, but smiled icily. "How many people know that you havecoal on your land, Trevison?" He saw Trevison's hands clench, and he laughed in grim amusement. Itpleased him to see his enemy writhe and squirm before him; the grimnesscame because of a mental picture, in his mind at this minute, of Trevisonconfiding in the girl. He looked up, the smile freezing on his lips, forwithin a foot of his chest was the muzzle of Trevison's pistol. He saw thetrigger finger contracting; saw Trevison's free hand clenched, the musclescorded and knotted--he felt the breathless, strained, unreal calm thatprecedes tragedy, grim and swift. He slowly stiffened, but did not shrinkan inch. It took him seconds to raise his gaze to Trevison's face, andthen he caught his breath quickly and smiled with straight lips. "No; you won't do it, Trevison, " he said, slowly; "you're not that kind. "He deliberately swung around in the chair and drew another cigar from abox on the desk top, lit it and leaned back, again facing the pistol. Trevison restored the pistol to the holster, brushing a hand uncertainlyover his eyes as though to clear his mental vision, for the shock that hadcome with the revelation of Miss Benham's duplicity had made his brainreel with a lust to kill. He laughed hollowly. His voice came cold andhard: "You're right--it wouldn't do. It would be plain murder, and I'm not quiteup to that. You know your men, don't you--you coyote's whelp! You knowI'll fight fair. You'll do yours underhandedly. Get up! There's your gun!Load it! Let's see if you've got the nerve to face a gun, with one in yourown hand!" "I'll do my fighting in my own way. " Corrigan's eyes kindled, but he didnot move. Trevison made a gesture of contempt, and wheeled, to go. As heturned he caught a glimpse of a hand holding a pistol, as it vanished intoa narrow crevice between a jamb and the door that led to the rear room. Hedrew his own weapon with a single movement, and swung around to Corrigan, his muscles tensed, his eyes alert and chill with menace. "I'll bore you if you wink an eyelash!" he warned, in a whisper. He leaped, with the words, to the door, lunging against it, sending itcrashing back so that it smashed against the wall, overbalancing someboxes that reposed on a shelf and sending them clattering. He stood in theopening, braced for another leap, tall, big, his muscles swelling andrippling, recklessly eager. Against the partition, which was stillswaying, his arms outstretched, a pistol in one hand, trying to crowdstill farther back to escape the searching glance of Trevison's eyes, wasBraman. He had overheard Trevison's tense whisper to Corrigan. The cold savageryin it had paralyzed him, and he gasped as Trevison's eyes found him, andthe pistol that he tried to raise dangled futilely from his nervelessfingers. It thudded heavily upon the boards of the floor an instant later, a shriek of fear mingling with the sound as he went down in a heap from avicious, deadening blow from Trevison's fist. Trevison's leap upon Braman had been swift; he was back in the doorwayinstantly, looking at Corrigan, his eyes ablaze with rage, wild, reckless, bitter. He laughed--the sound of it brought a grayish pallor to Corrigan'sface. "That explains your nerve!" he taunted. "It's a frame-up. You sent thedeputy after me--pointed me out when I went into Hanrahan's! That's how heknew me! You knew I'd come in here to have it out with you, and youfigured to have Braman shoot me when my back was turned! Ha, ha!" He swunghis pistol on Corrigan; the big man gripped the arms of his chair and satrigid, staring, motionless. For an instant there was no sound. And thenTrevison laughed again. "Bah!" he said; "I can't use your methods! You're safe so long as youdon't move. " He laughed again as he looked down at the banker. Reachingdown, he grasped the inert man by the scruff of the neck and dragged himthrough the door, out into the banking room, past Corrigan, who watchedhim wonderingly and to the front, there he dropped him and turning, answered the question that he saw shining in Corrigan's eyes: "I don't work in the dark! We'll take this case out into the sunlight, sothe whole town can have a look at it!" He stooped swiftly, grasped Braman around the middle, swung him aloft andhurled him through the window, into the street, the glass, shattered, clashing and jangling around him. He turned to Corrigan, laughing lowly: "Get up. Manti will want to know. I'm going to do the talking!" He forced Corrigan to the front door, and stood on the threshold behindhim, silent, watching. A hundred doorways were vomiting men. The crash of glass had carried far, and visions of a bank robbery filled many brains as their owners racedtoward the doorway where Trevison stood, the muzzle of his pistol jammedfirmly against Corrigan's back. The crowd gathered, in the manner peculiar to such scenes, coming from alldirections and converging at one point, massing densely in front of thebank building, surrounding the fallen banker, pushing, jostling, straining, craning necks for better views, eager-voiced, curious. No one touched Braman. On the contrary, there were many in the frontfringe that braced their bodies against the crush, shoving backward, crying that a man was hurt and needed breathing space. They were unheeded, and when the banker presently recovered consciousness he was lifted to hisfeet and stood, pressed close to the building, swaying dizzily, pale, weakand shaken. Word had gone through the crowd that it was not a robbery, for there weremany there who knew Trevison; they shouted greetings to him, and heanswered them, standing back of Corrigan, grim and somber. Foremost in the crowd was Mullarky, who on another day had seen a fight atthis same spot. He had taken a stand directly in front of the door of thebank, and had been using his eyes and his wits rapidly since his coming. And when two or three men from the crowd edged forward and tried to pushtheir way to Corrigan, Mullarky drew a pistol, leaped to the door landingbeside Trevison and trained his weapon, on them. "Stand back, or I'll plug you, sure as I'm a foot high! There's hell topay here, an' me friend gets a square deal--whatever he's done!" "Right!" came other voices from various points in the crowd; "a squaredeal--no interference!" Judge Lindman came out into the street, urged by curiosity. He had steppeddown from the doorway of the courthouse and had instantly been carriedwith the crowd to a point directly in front of Corrigan and Trevison, where he stood, bare-headed, pale, watching silently. Corrigan saw him, and smiled faintly at him. The easterner's eye sought out several faces inthe crowd near him, and when he finally caught the gaze of a certainindividual who had been eyeing him inquiringly for some moments, he slowlyclosed an eye and moved his head slightly toward the rear of the building. Instantly the man whistled shrilly with his fingers, as though to summonsomeone far down the street, and slipping around the edge of the crowdmade his way around to the rear of the bank building, where he was joinedpresently by other men, roughly garbed, who carried pistols. One of themclimbed in through a window, opened the door, and the others--numberingnow twenty-five or thirty, dove into the room. Out in front a silence had fallen. Trevison had lifted a hand and thecrowd strained its ears to hear. "I've caught a crook!" declared Trevison, the frenzy of fight stillsurging through his veins. "He's not a cheap crook--I give him credit forthat. All he wants to do is to steal the whole county. He'll do it, too, if we don't head him off. I'll tell you more about him in a minute. There's another of his stripe. " He pointed to Braman, who cringed. "Ithrew him out through the window, where the sunlight could shine on him. He tried to shoot me in the back--the big crook here, framed up on me. Iwant you all to know what you're up against. They're after all the land inthis section; they've clouded every title. It's a raw, dirty deal. I seenow, why they haven't sold a foot of the land they own here; why they'veshoved the cost of leases up until it's ruination to pay them. They'reland thieves, commercial pirates. They're going to euchre everybody outof--" Trevison caught a gasp from the crowd--concerted, sudden. He saw the masssway in unison, stiffen, stand rigid; and he turned his head quickly, tosee the door behind him, and the broken window through which he had thrownBraman--the break running the entire width of the building--filled withmen armed with rifles. He divined the situation, sensed his danger--the danger that faced thecrowd should one of its members make a hostile movement. "Steady there, boys!" he shouted. "Don't start anything. These men arehere through prearrangement--it's another frame-up. Keep your guns out ofsight!" He turned, to see Corrigan grinning contemptuously at him. He metthe look with naked exultation and triumph. "Got your body-guard within call, eh?" he jeered. "You need one. You'vecut me short, all right; but I've said enough to start a fire that willrage through this part of the country until every damned thief is burnedout! You've selected the wrong man for a victim, Corrigan. " He stepped down into the street, sheathing his pistol. He heard Corrigan'svoice, calling after him, saying: "Grand-stand play again!" Trevison turned; the gaze of the two men met, held, their hatred glowingbitter in their eyes; the gaze broke, like two sharp blades rasping apart, and Corrigan turned to his deputies, scowling; while Trevison pushed hisway through the crowd. Five minutes later, while Corrigan was talking with the deputies andBraman in the rear room of the bank building, Trevison was standing in thecourthouse talking with Judge Lindman. The Judge stared out into thestreet at some members of the crowd that still lingered. "This town will be a volcano of lawlessness if it doesn't get a squaredeal from you, Lindman, " said Trevison. "You have seen what a mob lookslike. You're the representative of justice here, and if we don't getjustice we'll come and hang you in spite of a thousand deputies! Rememberthat!" He stalked out, leaving behind him a white-faced, trembling old man whowas facing a crisis which made the future look very black and dismal. Hewas wondering if, after all, hanging wouldn't be better than the sunlightshining on a deed which each day he regretted more than on the precedingday. And Trevison, riding Nigger out of town, was estimating the probableeffect of his crowd-drawing action upon Judge Lindman, and consideringbitterly the perfidy of the woman who had cleverly drawn him on, to betrayhim. CHAPTER XIII ANOTHER LETTER That afternoon, Corrigan rode to the Bar B. The ranchhouse was of thebetter class, big, imposing, well-kept, with a wide, roofed porch runningacross the front and partly around both sides. It stood in a grove offir-balsam and cottonwood, on a slight eminence, and could be seen formiles from the undulating trail that led to Manti. Corrigan arrivedshortly after noon, to find Rosalind gone, for a ride, Agatha told him, after she had greeted him at the edge of the porch. Agatha had not been pleased over Rosalind's rides with Trevison as acompanion. She was loyal to her brother, and she did not admire the boldrecklessness that shone so frankly and unmistakably in Trevison's eyes. Had she been Rosalind she would have preferred the big, sleek, well-groomed man of affairs who had called today. And because of herpreference for Corrigan, she sat long on the porch with him and told himmany things--things that darkened the big man's face. And when, as theywere talking, Rosalind came, Agatha discreetly retired, leaving the twoalone. For a time after the coming of Rosalind, Corrigan sat in a big rockingchair, looking thoughtfully down the Manti trail, listening to the girltalk of the country, picturing her on a distant day--not too distant, either, for he meant to press his suit--sitting beside him on the porch ofanother house that he meant to build when he had achieved his goal. Thesethoughts thrilled him as they had never thrilled him until the entrance ofTrevison into his scheme of things. He had been sure of her then. And nowthe knowledge that he had a rival, filled him with a thousand emotions, the most disturbing of which was jealousy. The rage in him was deep andmalignant as he coupled the mental pictures of his imagination with thematerial record of Rosalind's movements with his rival, as related byAgatha. It was not his way to procrastinate; he meant to exert every forceat his command, quickly, resistlessly, to destroy Trevison, to blacken himand damn him, in the eyes of the girl who sat beside him. But he knew thatin the girl's presence he must be wise and subtle. "It's a great country, isn't it?" he said, his eyes on the broad reachesof plain, green-brown in the shimmering sunlight. "Look at it--almost asbig as some of the Old-world states! It's a wonderful country. I feel likea feudal baron, with the destinies of an important principality in theclutch of my hand!" "Yes; it must give one a feeling of great responsibility to know that onehas an important part in the development of a section like this. " He laughed, deep in his throat, at the awe in her voice. "I ought to haveseen its possibilities years ago--I should have been out here, preparingfor this. But when I bought the land I had no idea it would one day be sovaluable. " "Bought it?" "A hundred thousand acres of it. I got it very cheap. " He told her aboutthe Midland grant and his purchase from Marchmont. "I never heard of that before!" she told him. "It wasn't generally known. In fact, it was apparently generallyconsidered that the land had been sold by the Midland Company to variouspeople--in small parcels. Unscrupulous agents engineered the sales, Isuppose. But the fact is that I made the purchase from the Midland Companyyears ago--largely as a personal favor to Jim Marchmont, who needed moneybadly. And a great many of the ranch-owners around here really have notitle to their land, and will have to give it up. " She breathed deeply. "That will be a great disappointment to them, nowthat there exists the probability of a great advance in the value of theland. " "That was the owners' lookout. A purchaser should see that his deed isclear before closing a deal. " "What owners will be affected?" She spoke with a slight breathlessness. "Many. " He named some of them, leaving Trevison to the last, and thenwatching her furtively out of the corners of his eyes and noting, withstraightened lips, the quick gasp she gave. She said nothing; she wasthinking of the great light that had been in Trevison's eyes on the day hehad told her of his ten years of exile; she could remember his words, theyhad been vivid fixtures in her mind ever since: "I own five thousandacres, and about a thousand acres of it is the best coal land in theUnited States. I wouldn't sell it for love or money, for when your fathergets his railroad running, I'm going to cash in on ten of the leanest andhardest and lonesomest years that any man ever put in. " How hard it would be for him to give it all up; to acknowledge defeat, tofeel those ten wasted years behind him, empty, unproductive; full ofshattered hopes and dreams changed to nightmares! She sat, white of face, gripping the arms of her chair, feeling a great, throbbing sympathy forhim. "You will take it all?" "He will still hold one hundred and sixty acres--the quarter-sectiongranted him by the government, which he has undoubtedly proved on. " "Why--" she began, and paused, for to go further would be to inject herpersonal affairs into the conversation. "Trevison is an evil in the country, " he went on, speaking in a judicialmanner, but watching her narrowly. "It is men like him who retardcivilization. He opposes law and order--defies them. It is a shock, Iknow, to learn that the title to property that you have regarded as yourown for years, is in jeopardy. But still, a man can play the man and notyield to lawless impulses. " "What has happened?" She spoke breathlessly, for something in Corrigan'svoice warned her. "Very little--from Trevison's viewpoint, I suppose, " he laughed. "He cameinto my office this morning, after being served with a summons from JudgeLindman's court in regard to the title of his land, and tried to kill me. Failing in that, he knocked poor, inoffensive little Braman down--who hadinterfered in my behalf--and threw him bodily through the front window ofthe building, glass and all. It's lucky for him that Braman wasn't hurt. After that he tried to incite a riot, which Judge Lindman nipped in thebud by sending a number of deputies, armed with rifles, to the scene. Itwas a wonderful exhibition of outlawry. I was very sorry to have ithappen, and any more such outbreaks will result in Trevison's beingjailed--if not worse. " "My God!" she panted, in a whisper, and became lost in deep thought. They sat for a time, without speaking. She studied the profile of the manand compared its reposeful strength with that of the man who had riddenwith her many times since her coming to Blakeley's. The turbulent spiritof Trevison awed her now, frightened her--she feared for his future. Butshe pitied him; the sympathy that gripped her made icy shivers run overher. "From what I understand, Trevison has always been a disturber, " resumedCorrigan. "He disgraced himself at college, and afterwards--to such anextent that his father cut him off. He hasn't changed, apparently; he isstill doing the same old tricks. He had some sort of a love affair beforecoming West, your father told me. God help the girl who marries him!" The girl flushed at the last sentence; she replied to the preceding one: "Yes. Hester Keyes threw him over, after he broke with his father. " She did not see Corrigan's eyes quicken, for she was wondering if, afterall, Hester Keyes had not acted wisely in breaking with Trevison. Certainly, Hester had been in a position to know him better than some ofthose critics who had found fault with her for her action--herself, forinstance. She sighed, for the memory of her ideal was dimming. A figurethat represented violence and bloodshed had come in its place. "Hester Keyes, " said Corrigan, musingly. "Did she marry a fellow namedHarvey--afterwards? Winslow Harvey, if I remember rightly. He died soonafter?" "Yes--do you know her?" "Slightly. " Corrigan laughed. "I knew her father. Well, well. So Trevisonworshiped there, did he? Was he badly hurt--do you know?" "I do not know. " "Well, " said Corrigan, getting up, and speaking lightly, as thoughdismissing the subject from his mind; "I presume he was--and still is, forthat matter. A person never forgets the first love. " He smiled at her. "Won't you go with me for a short ride?" The ride was taken, but a disturbing question lingered in Rosalind's mindthroughout, and would not be solved. Had Trevison forgotten Hester Keyes?Did he think of her as--as--well, as she, herself, sometimes thought ofTrevison--as she thought of him now--with a haunting tenderness that madehis faults recede, as the shadows vanish before the sunshine? What Corrigan thought was expressed in a satisfied chuckle, as later, heloped his horse toward Manti. That night he wrote a letter and sent itEast. It was addressed to Mrs. Hester Harvey, and was subscribed: "Yourold friend, Jeff. " CHAPTER XIV A RUMBLE OF WAR The train that carried Corrigan's letter eastward bore, among its fewother passengers, a young man with a jaw set like a steel trap, who leanedforward in his seat, gripping the back of the seat in front of him; aneager, smoldering light in his eyes, who rose at each stop the train madeand glared belligerently and intolerantly at the coach ends, mutteringguttural anathemas at the necessity for delays. The spirit of battle waspersonified in him; it sat on his squared shoulders; it was in the thrustof his chin, stuck out as though to receive blows, which his ripplingmuscles would be eager to return. Two other passengers in the coachwatched him warily, and once, when he got up and walked to the front ofthe coach, opening the door and looking out, to let in the roar and whirand the clatter, one of the passengers remarked to the other: "That guy isin a temper where murder would come easy to him. " The train left Manti at nine o'clock in the evening. At midnight it pulledup at the little frame station in Dry Bottom and the young man leaped offand strode rapidly away into the darkness of the desert town. A littlelater, J. Blackstone Graney, attorney at law, and former Judge of theUnited States District Court at Dry Bottom, heard a loud hammering on thedoor of his residence at the outskirts of town. He got up, with a grunt ofresentment for all heavy-fisted fools abroad on midnight errands, and wentdownstairs to admit a grim-faced stranger who looked positivelybloodthirsty to the Judge, under the nervous tension of his midnightawakening. "I'm 'Brand' Trevison, owner of the Diamond K ranch, near Manti, " said thestranger, with blunt sharpness that made the Judge blink. "I've a case onin the Manti court at ten o'clock tomorrow--today, " he corrected. "Theyare going to try to swindle me out of my land, and I've got to have alawyer--a real one. I could have got half a dozen in Manti--such as theyare--but I want somebody who is wise in the law, and with the sort ofhonor that money and power can't blast--I want you!" Judge Graney looked sharply at his visitor, and smiled. "You are evidentlydesperately harried. Sit down and tell me about your case. " He waved to achair and Trevison dropped into it, sitting on its edge. The Judge tookanother, and with the kerosene lamp between them on a table, Trevisonrelated what had occurred during the previous morning in Manti. When heconcluded, the Judge's face was serious. "If what you say is true, it is a very awkward, not to say suspicious, situation. Being the only lawyer in Dry Bottom, until the coming of JudgeLindman, I have had occasion many times to consult the record you speakof, and if my memory serves me well, I have noted several times--quitecasually, of course, since I have never been directly concerned with therecords of the land in your vicinity--that several transfers of title tothe original Midland grant have been recorded. Your deed would show, ofcourse, the date of your purchase from Buck Peters, and we shall, perhaps, be able to determine the authenticity of the present record in thatmanner. But if, as you believe, the records have been tampered with, weare facing a long, hard legal battle which may or may not result in anultimate victory for us--depending upon the power behind the interestsopposed to you. " "I'll fight them to the Supreme Court of the United States!" declaredTrevison. "I'll fight them with the law or without it!" "I know it, " said Graney, with a shrewd glance at the other's grim face. "But be careful not to do anything that will jeopardize your liberty. Ifthose men are what you think they are, they would be only too glad to haveyou break some law that would give them an excuse to jail you. Youcouldn't do much fighting then, you know. " He got up. "There's a train outof here in about an hour--we'll take it. " About six o'clock that morning the two men stepped off the train at Manti. Graney went directly to a hotel, to wash and breakfast, while Trevison, alittle tired and hollow-eyed from loss of sleep and excitement, and with atwo days' growth of beard on his face, which made him look worse than heactually felt, sought the livery stable where he had left Nigger the nightbefore, mounted the animal and rode rapidly out of town toward the DiamondK. He took a trail that led through the cut where on another morning hehad startled the laborers by riding down the wall--Nigger eating up theground with long, sure, swift strides--passing Pat Carson and his men at apoint on the level about a quarter of a mile beyond the cut. He waved ahand to Carson as he flashed by, and something in his manner caused Carsonto remark to the engineer of the dinky engine: "Somethin's up wid Trevisonag'in, Murph--he's got a domned mean look in his eye. I'm the onluckiestson-av-a-gun in the worruld, Murph! First I miss seein' this fire-eaterbate the face off the big ilephant, Corrigan, an' yisterday I wasfiggerin' on goin' to town--but didn't; an' I miss seein' that littlewhiffet of a Braman flyin' through the windy. Do ye's know that there's afeelin' ag'in Corrigan an' the railroad in town, an' thot this monTrevison is the fuse that wud bust the boom av discontint. I'm beginnin'to feel a little excited meself. Now what do ye suppose that gang av minwid Winchesters was doin', comin' from thot direction this mornin'?" Hepointed toward the trail that Trevison was riding. "An' that big stiff, Corrigan, wid thim!" Trevison got the answer to this query the minute he reached the Diamond Kranchhouse. His foreman came running to him, pale, disgusted, his voicesnapping like a whip: "They've busted your desk an' rifled it. Twenty guys who said they wasdeputies from the court in Manti, an' Corrigan. I was here alone, watchin', as you told me, but couldn't move a finger--damn 'em!" Trevison dismounted and ran into the house. The room that he used as anoffice was in a state of disorder. Papers, books, littered the floor. Itwas evident that a thorough search had been made--for something. Trevisondarted to the desk and ran a hand into the pigeonhole in which he kept thedeed which he had come for. The hand came out, empty. He sprang to thedoor of a small closet where, in a box that contained some ammunition thathe kept for the use of his men, he had placed the money that RosalindBenham had brought to him. The money was not there. He walked to thecenter of the room and stood for an instant, surveying the mass of litteraround him, reeling, rage-drunken, murder in his heart. Barkwell, theforeman, watching him, drew great, long breaths of sympathy andexcitement. "Shall I get the boys an' go after them damn sneaks?" he questioned, hisvoice tremulous. "We'll clean 'em out--smoke 'em out of the county!" hethreatened. He started for the door. "Wait!" Trevison had conquered the first surge of passion; his grin wascold and bitter as he crossed glances with his foreman. "Don't doanything--yet. I'm going to play the peace string out. If it doesn't work, why then--" He tapped his pistol holster significantly. "You get a few of the boys and stay here with them. It isn't probable thatthey'll try anything like that again, because they've got what theywanted. But if they happen to come again, hold them until I come. I'mgoing to court. " Later, in Manti, he was sitting opposite Graney in a room in the hotel towhich the Judge had gone. "H'm, " said the latter, compressing his lips; "that's sharp practice. Theyare not wasting any time. " "Was it legal?" "The law is elastic--some judges stretch it more than others. Asearch-warrant and a writ of attachment probably did the business in thiscase. What I can't understand is why Judge Lindman issued the writ atall--if he did so. You are the defendant, and you certainly would havebrought the deed into court as a means of proving your case. " Trevison had mentioned the missing money, though he did not think itimportant to explain where it had come from. And Judge Graney did not askhim. But when court opened at the appointed time, with a dignity which wasa mockery to Trevison, and Judge Graney had explained that he had come torepresent the defendant in the action, he mildly inquired the reason forthe forcible entry into his client's house, explaining also that since thedefendant was required to prove his case it was optional with him whetheror not the deed be brought into court at all. Corrigan had been on time; he had nodded curtly to Trevison when he hadentered to take the chair in which he now sat, and had smiled whenTrevison had deliberately turned his back. He smiled when Judge Graneyasked the question--a faint, evanescent smirk. But at Judge Lindman'sreply he sat staring stolidly, his face an impenetrable mask: "There was no mention of a deed in the writ of attachment issued by thecourt. Nor has the court any knowledge of the existence of such a deed. The officers of the court were commanded to proceed to the defendant'shouse, for the purpose of finding, if possible, and delivering to thiscourt the sum of twenty-seven hundred dollars, which amount, representingthe money paid to the defendant by the railroad company for certain grantsand privileges, is to remain in possession of the court until the title tothe land in litigation has been legally awarded. " "But the court officers seized the defendant's deed, also, " objected JudgeGraney. Judge Lindman questioned a deputy who sat in the rear of the room. Thelatter replied that he had seen no deed. Yes, he admitted, in reply to aquestion of Judge Graney's, it might have been possible that Corrigan hadbeen alone in the office for a time. Graney looked inquiringly at Corrigan. The latter looked steadily back athim. "I saw no deed, " he said, coolly. "In fact, it wouldn't be _possible_for me to see any deed, for Trevison has no title to the property hespeaks of. " Judge Graney made a gesture of impotence to Trevison, then spoke slowly tothe court. "I am afraid that without the deed it will be impossible for usto proceed. I ask a continuance until a search can be made. " Judge Lindman coughed. "I shall have to refuse the request. The plaintiffis anxious to take possession of his property, and as no reason has beenshown why he should not be permitted to do so, I hereby return judgment inhis favor. Court is dismissed. " "I give notice of appeal, " said Graney. Outside a little later Judge Graney looked gravely at Trevison. "There'sknavery here, my boy; there's some sort of influence behind Lindman. Let'ssee some of the other owners who are likely to be affected. " This task took them two days, and resulted in the discovery that no otherowner had secured a deed to his land. Lefingwell explained the omission. "A sale is a sale, " he said; "or a sale _has_ been a sale until now. Landhas changed hands out here just the same as we'd trade a horse for a cowor a pipe for a jack-knife. There was no questions asked. When a man had apiece of land to sell, he sold it, got his money an' didn't bother to givea receipt. Half the damn fools in this country wouldn't know a deed from amarriage license, an' they haven't been needin' one or the other. For whena man has a wife she's continually remindin' him of it, an' he can'tforget it--he's got her. It's the same with his land--he's got it. So faras I know there's never been a deed issued for my land--or any of the landin that Midland grant, except Trevison's. " "It looks as though Corrigan had considered that phase of the matter, "dryly observed Judge Graney. "The case doesn't look very hopeful. However, I shall take it before the Circuit Court of Appeals, in Santa Fe. " He was gone a week, and returned, disgusted, but determined. "They denied our appeal; said they might have considered it if we had someevidence to offer showing that we had some sort of a claim to the title. When I told them of my conviction that the records had been tampered with, they laughed at me. " The Judge's eyes gleamed indignantly. "Sometimes, Ifeel heartily in sympathy with people who rail at the courts--theirattitude is often positively asinine. " "Perhaps the long arm of power has reached to Santa Fe?" suggestedTrevison. "It won't reach to Washington, " declared the Judge, decisively. "And ifyou say the word, I'll go there and see what I can do. It's an outrage!" "I was hoping you'd go--there's no limit, " said Trevison. "But as I seethe situation, everything depends upon the discovery of the originalrecord. I'm convinced that it is still in existence, and that JudgeLindman knows where it is. I'm going to get it, or--" "Easy, my friend, " cautioned the Judge. "I know how you feel. But youcan't fight the law with lawlessness. You lie quiet until you hear fromme. That is all there is to be done, anyway--win or lose. " Trevison clenched his teeth. "I might feel that way about it, if I hadbeen as careless of my interests as the other owners here, but Isafeguarded my interests, trusted them to the regularly recognized law outhere, and I'm going to fight for them! Why, good God, man; I've worked tenyears for that land! Do you think I will see it go _without_ a fight?" Helaughed, and the Judge shook his head at the sound. CHAPTER XV A MUTUAL BENEFIT ASSOCIATION Unheeding the drama that was rapidly and invisibly (except for theincident of Braman and the window) working itself out in its midst, Mantilunged forward on the path of progress, each day growing larger, busier, more noisy and more important. Perhaps Manti did not heed, because Mantiwas itself a drama--the drama of creation. Each resident, each newcomer, settled quickly and firmly into the place that desire or ambition or greedurged him; put forth whatever energy nature had endowed him with, andpushed on toward the goal toward which the town was striving--success;collectively winning, unrecking of individual failure or tragedy--thosethings were to be expected, and they fell into the limbo of forgottenthings, easily and unnoticed. Wrecks, disasters, were certain. Theycame--turmoil engulfed them. Which is to say that during the two weeks that had elapsed since thedeparture of Judge Graney for Washington, Manti had paid very littleattention to "Brand" Trevison while he haunted the telegraph station andthe post-office for news. He was pointed out, it is true, as the man whohad hurled banker Braman through the window of his bank building; therewas a hazy understanding that he was having some sort of trouble withCorrigan over some land titles, but in the main Manti buzzed along, busywith its visions and its troubles, leaving Trevison with his. The inaction, with the imminence of failure after ten years of effort, hadits effect on Trevison. It fretted him; he looked years older; he lookedworried and harassed; he longed for a chance to come to grips in anencounter that would ease the strain. Physical action it must be, for hisbrain was a muddle of passion and hatred in which clear thoughts, schemes, plans, plots, were swallowed and lost. He wanted to come into physicalcontact with the men and things that were thwarting him; he wanted to feelthe thud and jar of blows; to catch the hot breath of open antagonism; heyearned to feel the strain of muscles--this fighting in the dark withcourts and laws and lawyers, according to rules and customs, filled himwith a raging impotence that hurt him. And then, at the end of two weekscame a telegram from Judge Graney, saying merely: "Be patient. It's a longtrail. " Trevison got on Nigger and returned to the Diamond K. The six o'clock train arrived in Manti that evening with many passengers, among whom was a woman of twenty-eight at whom men turned to look thesecond time. Her traveling suit spoke eloquently of that personal qualitywhich a language, seeking new and expressive phrases describes as "class. "It fitted her smoothly, tightly, revealing certain lines of her gracefulfigure that made various citizens of Manti gasp. "Looks like she'd beenpoured into it, " remarked an interested lounger. She lingered on thestation platform until she saw her trunks safely deposited, and then, drawing her skirts as though fearful of contamination, she walked, self-possessed and cool, through the doorway of the _Castle_hotel--Manti's aristocrat of hostelries. Shortly afterwards she admitted Corrigan to her room. She had changed fromher traveling suit to a gown of some soft, glossy material thataccentuated the lines revealed by the discarded habit. The worldly-wisewould have viewed the lady with a certain expressive smile that might havemeant much or nothing. And the lady would have looked upon that smile asshe now looked at Corrigan, with a faint defiance that had quite a littledaring in it. But in the present case there was an added expression--two, in fact--pleasure and expectancy. "Well--I'm here. " She bowed, mockingly, laughingly, compressing her lipsas she noted the quick fire that flamed in her visitor's eyes. "That's all over, Jeff; I won't go back to it. If that's why--" "That's all right, " he said, smiling as he took the chair she waved himto; "I've erased a page or two from the past, myself. But I can't helpadmiring you; you certainly are looking fine! What have you been doing toyourself?" She draped herself in a chair where she could look straight at him, andhis compliment made her mouth harden at the corners. "Well, " she said; "in your letter you promised you'd take me into yourconfidence. I'm ready. " "It's purely a business proposition. Each realizes on his effort. You helpme to get Rosalind Benham through the simple process of fascinatingTrevison; I help you to get Trevison by getting Miss Benham. It's a sortof mutual benefit association, as it were. " "What does Trevison look like, Jeff--tell me?" The woman leaned forward inher chair, her eyes glowing. "Oh, you women!" said Corrigan, with a gesture of disgust. "He's ahandsome fool, " he added; "if that's what you want to know. But I haven'tany compliments to hand him regarding his manners--he's a wild man!" "I'd love to see him!" breathed the woman. "Well, keep your hair on; you'll see him soon enough. But you've got tounderstand this: He's on my land, and he gets off without furtherfighting--if you can hold him. That's understood, eh? You win him back andget him away from here. If you double-cross me, he finds out what youare!" He flung the words at her, roughly. She spoke quietly, though color stained her cheeks. "Not 'are, ' Jeff--whatI was. That would be bad enough. But have no fear--I shall do as you ask. For I want him--I have wanted him all the time--even during the time I waschained to that little beast, Harvey. I wouldn't have been what Iam--if--if--" "Cut it out!" he advised brutally; "the man always gets the blame, anyway--so it's no novelty to hear that sort of stuff. So you understand, eh? You choose your own method--but get results--quick! I want to get thatdamned fool away from here!" He got up and paced back and forth in theroom. "If he takes Rosalind Benham away from me I'll kill him! I'll killhim, anyway!" "Has it gone very far between them?" The concern in her voice brought aharsh laugh from Corrigan. "Far enough, I guess. He's been riding with her; every day for threeweeks, her aunt told me. He's a fiery, impetuous devil!" "Don't worry, " she consoled. "And now, " she directed; "get out of here. I've been on the go for days and days, and I want to sleep. I shall go outto see Rosalind tomorrow--to surprise her, Jeff--to surprise her. Ha, ha!" "I'll have a rig here for you at nine o'clock, " said Corrigan. "Take yourtrunks--she won't order you away. Tell her that Trevison sent foryou--don't mention my name; and stick to it! Well, pleasant dreams, " headded as he went out. As the door closed the woman stood looking at it, a sneer curving herlips. CHAPTER XVI WHEREIN A WOMAN LIES "Aren't you going to welcome me, dearie?" From the porch of the Bar B ranchhouse Rosalind had watched the rapidapproach of the buckboard, and she now stood at the edge of the stepleading to the porch, not more than ten or fifteen feet distant from thevehicle, shocked into dumb amazement. "Why, yes--of course. That is--Why, what on earth brought you out here?" "A perfectly good train--as far as your awfully crude town of Manti; andthis--er--spring-legged thing, the rest of the way, " laughed HesterHarvey. She had stepped down, a trifle flushed, inwardly amused, outwardlyembarrassed--which was very good acting; but looking very attractive andgirlish in the simple dress she had donned for the occasion--and for thepurpose of making a good impression. So attractive was she that thecontemplation of her brought a sinking sensation to Rosalind that droopedher shoulders, and caused her to look around, involuntarily, for somethingto lean upon. For there flashed into her mind at this instant theconviction that she had herself to blame for this visitation--she hadwritten to Ruth Gresham, and Ruth very likely had disseminated the news, after the manner of all secrets, and Hester had heard it. And of coursethe attraction was "Brand" Trevison! A new emotion surged through Rosalindat this thought, an emotion so strong that it made her gasp--jealousy! She got through the ordeal somehow--with an appearance of pleasure--thoughit was hard for her to play the hypocrite! But so soon as she decentlycould, without cutting short the inevitable inconsequential chatter whichfills the first moments of renewed friendships, she hurried Hester to aroom and during her absence sat immovable in her chair on the porchstaring stonily out at the plains. It was not until half an hour later, when they were sitting on the porch, that Hester delivered the stroke that caused Rosalind's hands to fallnervelessly into her lap, her lips to quiver and her eyes to fill with areflection of a pain that gripped her hard, somewhere inside. For Hesterhad devised her method, as suggested by Corrigan. "It may seem odd to you--if you know anything of the manner of my breakingoff with Trevison Brandon--but he wrote me about a month ago, asking me tocome out here. I didn't accept the invitation at once--because I didn'twant him to be too sure, you know, dearie. Men are always presuming andpursuing, dearie. " "Then you didn't hear of Trevison's whereabouts from Ruth Gresham?" "Why, no, dearie! He wrote directly to me. " Rosalind hadn't _that_ to reproach herself with, at any rate! "Of course, I couldn't go to his ranch--the Diamond K, isn't it?--so, noting from one of the newspapers that you had come here, I decided totake advantage of _your_ hospitality. I'm just wild to see the dear boy!Is his ranch far? For you know, " she added, with a malicious look at thegirl's pale face; "I must not keep him waiting, now that I am here. " "You won't find him prosperous. " It hurt Rosalind to say that, but thehurt was slightly offset by a savage resentment that gripped her when shethought of how quickly Hester had thrown Trevison over when she haddiscovered that he was penniless. And she had a desperate hope that thedismal aspect of Trevison's future would appall Hester--as it would werethe woman still the mercenary creature she had been ten years before. ButHester looked at her with grave imperturbability. "I heard something about his trouble. About some land, isn't it? I didn'tlearn the particulars. Tell me about it--won't you, dearie?" Rosalind's story of Trevison's difficulties did not have the effect thatshe anticipated. "The poor, dear boy!" said Hester--and she seemed genuinely moved. Rosalind gulped hard over the shattered ruins of this last hope and gotup, fighting against an inhospitable impulse to order Hester away. Shemade some slight excuse and slipped to her room, where she stayed long, elemental passions battling riotously within her. She realized now how completely she had yielded to the spell that themagnetic and impetuous exile had woven about her; she knew now that had hepressed her that day when he had told her of his love for her she musthave surrendered. She thought, darkly, of his fiery manner that day, ofhis burning looks, his hot, impulsive words, of his confidences. Hypocrisyall! For while they had been together he must have been thinking ofsending for Hester! He had been trifling with her! Faith in an ideal is asacred thing, and shattered, it lights the fires of hate and scorn, andthe emotions that seethed through Rosalind's veins as in her room sheconsidered Trevison's unworthiness, finally developed into a furiousvindictiveness. She wished dire, frightful calamities upon him, and then, swiftly reacting, her sympathetical womanliness forced the dark passionsback, and she threw herself on the bed, sobbing, murmuring: "Forgive me!" Later, when she had made herself presentable, she went downstairs again, concealing her misery behind a steady courtesy and a smile that sometimeswas a little forced and bitter, to entertain her guest. It was a long, tiresome day, made almost unbearable by Hester's small talk. But she gotthrough it. And when, rather late in the afternoon, Hester inquired theway to the Diamond K, announcing her intention of visiting Trevisonimmediately, she gave no evidence of the shocked surprise that seized her. She coolly helped Hester prepare for the trip, and when she drove away inthe buckboard, stood on the ground at the edge of the porch, watching asthe buckboard and its occupant faded into the shimmering haze of theplains. CHAPTER XVII JUSTICE VS. LAW Impatience, intolerable and vicious, gripped Trevison as he rode homewardafter his haunting vigil at Manti. The law seemed to him to be like ahouse with many doors, around and through which one could play hide andseek indefinitely, with no possibility of finding one of the doors locked. Judge Graney had warned him to be cautious, but as he rode into the duskof the plains the spirit of rebellion seized him. Twice he halted Niggerand wheeled him, facing Manti, already agleam and tumultuous, almostyielding to his yearning to return and force his enemy to some sort ofphysical action, but each time he urged the horse on, for he could thinkof no definite plan. He was half way to the Diamond K when he suddenlystarted and sat rigid and erect in the saddle, drawing a deep breath, hisnerves tingling from excitement. He laughed lowly, exultingly, as menlaugh when under the stress of adversity they devise sudden, bold plans ofaction, and responding to the slight knee press Nigger turned, reared, andthen shot like a black bolt across the plains at an angle that would nottake him anywhere near the Diamond K. Half an hour later, in a darkness which equaled that of the night on whichhe had carried the limp and drink-saturated Clay Levins to his wife, Trevison was dismounting at the door of the gun-man's cabin. A littlelater, standing in the glare of lamplight that shone through the opendoorway, he was reassuring Mrs. Levins and asking for her husband. Shortlyafterward, he was talking lowly to Levins as the latter saddled his ponyout at the stable. "I'll do it--for you, " Levins told him. And then he chuckled. "It'll seemlike old times. " "It's Justice versus Law, tonight, " laughed Trevison; "it's a case of 'theend justifying the means. '" Manti never slept. At two o'clock in the morning the lights in thegambling rooms of the _Belmont_ and the _Plaza_ were still flickeringstreams out into the desert night; weak strains of discord were beingdrummed out of a piano in a dance hall; the shuffling of feet smote thedead, flat silence of the night with an odd, weird resonance. Here andthere a light burned in a dwelling or store, or shone through the wall ofa tent-house. But Manti's one street was deserted--the only peace thatManti ever knew, had descended. Two men who had dismounted at the edge of town had hitched their horses inthe shadow of a wagon shed in the rear of a store building, and weremaking their way cautiously down the railroad tracks toward the center oftown. They kept in the shadows of the buildings as much as possible--forspace was valuable now and many buildings nuzzled the railroad tracks; butwhen once they were forced to pass through a light from a window theirfaces were revealed in it for an instant--set, grim and determined. "We've got to move quickly, " said one of the men as they neared thecourthouse; "it will be daylight soon. Damn a town that never sleeps!" The other laughed lowly. "I've said the same thing, often, " he whispered. "Easy now--here we are!" They paused in the shadow of the building and whispered together briefly. A sound reached their ears as they stood. Peering around the cornernearest them they saw the bulk of a man appear. He walked almost to thecorner of the building where they crouched, and they held their breath, tensing their muscles. Just when it seemed they must be discovered, theman wheeled, walked away, and vanished into the darkness toward the otherside of the building. Presently he returned, and repeated the maneuver. Ashe vanished the second time, the larger man of the two in wait, whisperedto the other: "He's the sentry! Stand where you are--I'll show Corrigan--" The words were cut short by the reappearance of the sentry. He came closeto the corner, and wheeled, to return. A lithe black shape leaped like ahuge cat, and landed heavily on the sentry's shoulders, bringing a painedgrunt from him. The grunt died in a gurgle as iron fingers closed on histhroat; he was jammed, face down, into the dust and held there, smothering, until his body slacked and his muscles ceased rippling. Then ahandkerchief was slipped around his mouth and drawn tightly. He was rolledover, still unconscious, his hands tied behind him. Then he was borne awayinto the darkness by the big man, who carried him as though he were achild. "Locked in a box-car, " whispered the big man, returning: "They'll get him;they're half unloaded. " Without further words they returned to the shadow of the building. Judge Lindman had not been able to sleep until long after his usual hourfor retiring. The noise, and certain thoughts, troubled him. It was aftermidnight when he finally sought his cot, and he was in a heavy doze untilshortly after two, when a breath of air, chilled by its clean sweep overthe plains, searched him out and brought him up, sitting on the edge ofthe cot, shivering. The rear door of the courthouse was open. In front of the iron safe at therear of the room he saw a man, faintly but unmistakably outlined in thecross light from two windows. He was about to cry out when his throat wasseized from behind and he was borne back on the cot resistlessly. Heldthus, a voice which made him strain his eyes in an effort to see theowner's face, hissed in his ear: "I don't want to kill you, but I'll do it if you cry out! I mean business!Do you promise not to betray us?" The Judge wagged his head weakly, and the grip on his throat relaxed. Hesat up, aware that the fingers were ready to grip his throat again, for hecould feel the big shape lingering beside him. "This is an outrage!" he gasped, shuddering. "I know you--you areTrevison. I shall have you punished for this. " The other laughed lowly and vibrantly. "That's your affair--if you dare!You say a word about this visit and I'll feed your scoundrelly old carcassto the coyotes! Justice is abroad tonight and it won't be balked. I'mafter that original land record--and I'm going to have it. You know whereit is--you've got it. Your face told me that the other day. You're onlyhalf-heartedly in this steal. Be a man--give me the record--and I'll standby you until hell freezes over! Quick! Is it in the safe?" The Judge wavered in agonized indecision. But thoughts of Corrigan's wrathfinally conquered. "It--it isn't in the safe, " he said. And then, aware of his error becauseof the shrill breath the other drew, he added, quaveringly: "There isno--the original record is in my desk--you've seen it. " "Bah!" The big shape backed away--two or three feet, whispering back atthe Judge. "Open your mouth and you're a dead man. I've got you covered!" Cowering on his cot the Judge watched the big shape join the other at thesafe. How long it remained there, he did not know. A step sounded in thesilence that reigned outside--a third shape loomed in the doorway. "Judge Lindman!" called a voice. "Y-es?" quavered the Judge, aware that the big shape in the room was nowclose to him, menacing him. "Your door's open! Where's Ed? There's something wrong! Get up and strikea light. There'll be hell to pay if Corrigan finds out we haven't beenwatching your stuff. Damn it! A man can't steal time for a drink withoutsomething happens. Jim and Bill and me just went across the street, leaving Ed here. They're coming right--" He had been entering the room while talking, fingering in his pockets fora match. His voice died in a quick gasp as Trevison struck with the buttof his pistol. The man fell, silently. Another voice sounded outside. Trevison crouched at the doorway. A formdarkened the opening. Trevison struck, missed, a streak of fire split thenight--the newcomer had used his pistol. It went off again--theflame-spurt shooting ceilingward, as Levins clinched the man from therear. A third man loomed in the doorway; a fourth appeared, behind him. Trevison swung at the head of the man nearest him, driving him back uponthe man behind, who cursed, plunging into the room. The man whom Levinshad seized was shouting orders to the others. But these suddenly ceased asLevins smashed him on the head with the butt of a pistol. Two othersremained. They were stubborn and courageous. But it was miserable work, inthe dark--blows were misdirected, friend striking friend; other blows wentwild, grunts of rage and impotent curses following. But Trevison andLevins were intent on escaping--a victory would have been hollow--for thethud and jar of their boots on the bare floor had been heard; doors wereslamming; from across the street came the barking of a dog; men wereshouting questions at one another; from the box-car on the railroad tracksissued vociferous yells and curses. Trevison slipped out through the door, panting. His opponent had gone down, temporarily disabled from sundryvicious blows from a fist that had worked like a piston rod. A figureloomed at his side. "I got mine!" it said, triumphantly; "we'd betterslope. " "Another five minutes and I'd have cracked it, " breathed Levins as theyran. "What's Corrigan havin' the place watched for?" "You've got me. Afraid of the Judge, maybe. The Judge hasn't his wholesoul in this deal; it looks to me as though Corrigan is forcing him. Butthe Judge has the original record, all right; and it's in that safe, too!God! If they'd only given us a minute or two longer!" They fled down the track, running heavily, for the work had been fast andthe tension great, and when they reached the horses and threw themselvesinto the saddles, Manti was ablaze with light. As they raced away in thedarkness a grim smile wreathed Trevison's face. For though he had notsucceeded in this enterprise, he had at least struck a blow--and he hadcorroborated his previous opinion concerning Judge Lindman's knowledge ofthe whereabouts of the original record. It was three o'clock and the dawn was just breaking when Trevison rodeinto the Diamond K corral and pulled the saddle from Nigger. Levins hadgone home. Trevison was disappointed. It had been a bold scheme, and well planned, and it would have succeeded had it not been for the presence of thesentries. He had not anticipated that. He laughed grimly, rememberingJudge Lindman's fright. Would the Judge reveal the identity of hisearly-morning visitor? Trevison thought not, for if the original recordwere in the safe, and if for any reason the Judge wished to conceal itsexistence from Corrigan, a hint of the identity of the early-morningvisitors--especially of one--might arouse Corrigan's suspicions. But what if Corrigan knew of the existence of the original record? Therewas the presence of the guards to indicate that he did. But there wasJudge Lindman's half-heartedness to disprove that line of reasoning. Also, Trevison was convinced that if Corrigan knew of the existence of therecord he would destroy it; it would be dangerous, in the hands of anenemy. But it would be an admirable weapon of self-protection in the handsof a man who had been forced into wrong-doing--in the hands of JudgeLindman, for instance. Trevison opened the door that led to his office, thrilling with a new hope. He lit a match, stepped across the floor andtouched the flame to the wick of the kerosene lamp--for it was not yetlight enough for him to see plainly in the office--and stood for aninstant blinking in its glare. A second later he reeled back against theedge of the desk, his hands gripping it, dumb, amazed, physically sickwith a fear that he had suddenly gone insane. For in a big chair in acorner of the room, sleepy-eyed, tired, but looking very becoming in hersimple dress with a light cloak over it, the collar turned up, so that itgave her an appearance of attractive negligence, a smile of delightedwelcome on her face, was Hester Harvey. She got up as he stood staring dumfoundedly at her and moved toward him, with an air of artful supplication that brought a gasp out of him--ofsheer relief. "Won't you welcome me, Trev? I have come very far, to see you. " She heldout her hands and went slowly toward him, mutely pleading, her eyesluminous with love--which she did not pretend, for the boy she had knownhad grown into the promise of his youth--big, magnetic--a figure for anywoman to love. He had been looking at her intently, narrowly, searchingly. He saw whatshe herself had not seen--the natural changes that ten years had broughtto her. He saw other things--that she had not suspected--a certain blasésophistication; a too bold and artful expression of the eyes--as thoughshe knew their power and the lure of them; the slightly hard curve in thecorners of her mouth; a second character lurking around her--indefinite, vague, repelling--the subconscious self, that no artifice can hide--thesin and the shame of deeds unrepented. If there had been a time when hehad loved her, its potence could not leap the lapse of years and overcomehis repugnance for her kind, and he looked at her coldly, barring herprogress with a hand, which caught her two and held them in a grip thatmade her wince. "What are you doing here? How did you get in? When did you come?" He firedthe questions at her roughly, brutally. "Why, Trev. " She gulped, her smile fading palely. The conquest was not tobe the easy one she had thought--though she really wanted him--more thanever, now that she saw she was in danger of losing him. She explained, earnestly pleading with eyes that had lost their power to charm him. "I heard you were here--that you were in trouble. I want to help you. Igot here night before last--to Manti. Rosalind Benham had written aboutyou to Ruth Gresham--a friend of hers in New York. Ruth Gresham told me. Iwent directly from Manti to Benham's ranch. Then I came here--about dusk, last night. There was a man here--your foreman, he said. I explained, andhe let me in. Trev--won't you welcome me?" "It isn't the first time I've been in trouble. " His laugh was harsh; itmade her cringe and cry: "I've repented for that. I shouldn't have done it; I don't know what wasthe matter with me. Harvey had been telling me things about you--" "You wouldn't have believed him--" He laughed, cynically. "There's no useof haggling over _that_--it's buried, and I've placed a monument over it:'Here lies a fool that believed in a woman. ' I don't reproach you--youcouldn't be blamed for not wanting to marry an idiot like me. But Ihaven't changed. I still have my crazy ideas of honor and justice andsquare-dealing, and my double-riveted faith in my ability to triumph overall adversity. But women--Bah! you're all alike! You scheme, you plot, youplay for place; you are selfish, cold; you snivel and whine--There is moreof it, but I can't think of any more. But--let's face this mattersquarely. If you still like me, I'm sorry for you, for I can't say thatthe sight of you has stirred any old passion in me. You shouldn't havecome out here. " "You're terribly resentful, Trev. And I don't blame you a bit--I deserveit all. But don't send me away. Why, I--love you, Trev; I've loved you allthese years; I loved you when I sent you away--while I was married toHarvey; and more afterwards--and now, deeper than ever; and--" He shook his head and looked at her steadily--cynicism, bald derision inhis gaze. "I'm sorry; but it can't be--you're too late. " He dropped her hands, and she felt of the fingers where he had grippedthem. She veiled the quick, savage leap in her eyes by drooping the lids. "You love Rosalind Benham, " she said, quietly, looking at him with amirthless smile. He started, and her lips grew a trifle stiff. "You poorboy!" "Why the pity?" he said grimly. "Because she doesn't care for you, Trev. She told me yesterday that shewas engaged to marry a man named Corrigan. He is out here, she said. Sheremarked that she had found you very amusing during the three or fourweeks of Corrigan's absence, and she seemed delighted because the courtout here had ruled that the land you thought was yours belongs to the manwho is to be her husband. " He stiffened at this, for it corroborated Corrigan's words: "She is heartand soul with me in this deal, She is ambitious. " Trevison's lips curledscornfully. First, Hester Keyes had been ambitious, and now it wasRosalind Benham. He fought off the bitter resentment that filled him andraised his head, laughing, glossing over the hurt with savage humor. "Well, I'm doing some good in the world, after all. " "Trev, " Hester moved toward him again, "don't talk like that--it makes meshiver. I've been through the fire, boy--we've both been through it. Iwasted myself on Harvey--you'll do the same with Rosalind Benham. Tenyears, boy--think of it! I've loved you for that long. Doesn't that makeyou understand--" "There's nothing quite so dead as a love that a man doesn't want torevive, " he said shortly; "do you understand that?" She shuddered and paled, and a long silence came between them. The colddawn that was creeping over the land stole into the office with them andfound the fires of affection turned to the ashes of unwelcome memory. Thewoman seemed to realize at last, for she gave a little shiver and lookedup at Trevison with a wan smile. "I--I think I understand, Trev. Oh, I am _so_ sorry! But I am not goingaway. I am going to stay in Manti, to be near you--if you want me. And youwill want me, some day. " She went close to him. "Won't you kiss me--once, Trev? For the sake of old times?" "You'd better go, " he said gruffly, turning his head. And then, as sheopened the door and stood upon the threshold, he stepped after her, saying: "I'll get your horse. " "There's two of them, " she laughed tremulously. "I came in a buckboard. " "Two, then, " he said soberly as he followed her out. "And say--" Heturned, flushing. "You came at dusk, last night. I'm afraid I haven't beenexactly thoughtful. Wait--I'll rustle up something to eat. " "I--I couldn't touch it, thank you. Trev--" She started toward himimpulsively, but he turned his back grimly and went toward the corral. Sunrise found Hester back at the Bar B. Jealous, hurt eyes had watchedfrom an upstairs window the approach of the buckboard--had watched theDiamond K trail the greater part of the night. For, knowing of the absenceof women at the Diamond K, Rosalind had anticipated Hester's return theprevious evening--for the distance that separated the two ranches was notmore than two miles. But the girl's vigil had been unrewarded until now. And when at last she saw the buckboard coming, scorn and rage, furious anddeep, seized her. Ah, it was bold, brazen, disgraceful! But she forced herself to calmness as she went down stairs to greet herguest--for there might have been some excuse for the lapse ofpropriety--some accident--something, anything. "I expected you last night, " she said as she met Hester at the door. "Youwere delayed I presume. Has anything happened?" "Nothing, dearie. " Only the bold significance of Hester's smile hid itsdeliberate maliciousness. "Trev was so glad to see me that he simplywouldn't let me go. And it was daylight before we realized it. " The girl gasped. And now, looking at the woman, she saw what Trevison hadseen--staring back at her, naked and repulsive. She shuddered, and herface whitened. "There are hotels at Manti, Mrs. Harvey, " she said coldly. "Oh, very well!" The woman did not change her smile. "I shall be very gladto take advantage of your kind invitation. For Trev tells me thatpresently there will be much bitterness between your crowd and himself, and I am certain that he wouldn't want me to stay here. If you will kindlyhave a man bring my trunks--" And so she rode toward Manti. Not until the varying undulations of theland hid her from view of the Bar B ranchhouse did she lose the malicioussmile. Then it faded, and furious sobs of disappointment shook her. CHAPTER XVIII LAW INVOKED AND DEFIED As soon as the deputies had gone, two of them nursing injured heads, andall exhibiting numerous bruises, Judge Lindman rose and dressed. In theghostly light preceding the dawn he went to the safe, his fingerstrembling so that he made difficult work with the combination. He got arecord from out of the safe, pulled out the bottom drawer, of a seriesfilled with legal documents and miscellaneous articles, laid the recordbook on the floor and shoved the drawer in over it. An hour later he wasfacing Corrigan, who on getting a report of the incident from one of thedeputies, had hurried to get the Judge's version. The Judge had had timeto regain his composure, though he was still slightly pale and nervous. The Judge lied glibly. He had seen no one in the courthouse. His firstknowledge that anyone had been there had come when he had heard the voiceof one, of the deputies, calling to him. And then all he had seen was ashadowy figure that had leaped and struck. After that there had been someshooting. And then the men had escaped. "No one spoke?" "Not a word, " said the Judge. "That is, of course, no one but the man whocalled to me. " "Did they take anything?" "What is there to take? There is nothing of value. " "Gieger says one of them was working at the safe. What's in there?" "Some books and papers and supplies--nothing of value. That they tried toget into the safe would seem to indicate that they thought there was moneythere--Manti has many strangers who would not hesitate at robbery. " "They didn't get into the safe, then?" "I haven't looked inside--nothing seems to be disturbed, as it would werethe men safe-blowers. In their hurry to get away it would seem, if theyhad come to get into the safe, they would have left somethingbehind--tools, or something of that character. " "Let's have a look at the safe. Open it!" Corrigan seemed to besuspicious, and with a pulse of trepidation, the Judge knelt and workedthe combination. When the door came open Corrigan dropped on his knees infront of it and began to pull out the contents, scattering them in hiseagerness. He stood up after a time, scowling, his face flushed. He turnedon the Judge, grasped him by the shoulders, his fingers gripping so hardthat the Judge winced. "Look here, Lindman, " he said. "Those men were not ordinary robbers. Experienced men would know better than to crack a safe in a courthousewhen there's a bank right next door. I've an idea that it was some ofTrevison's work. You've done or said something that's given him the notionthat you've got the original record. Have you?" "I swear I have said nothing, " declared the Judge. Corrigan looked at him steadily for a moment and then released him. "Youburned it, eh?" The Judge nodded, and Corrigan compressed his lips. "I suppose it's allright, but I can't help wishing that I had been here to watch the ceremonyof burning that record. I'd feel a damn sight more secure. But understandthis: If you double-cross me in any detail of this game, you'll never goto the penitentiary for what Benham knows about you--I'll choke thegizzard out of you!" He took a turn around the room, stopping at last infront of the Judge. "Now we'll talk business. I want you to issue an order permitting me toerect mining machinery on Trevison's land. We need coal here. " "Graney gave notice of appeal, " protested the Judge. "Which the Circuit Court denied. " "He'll go to Washington, " persisted the Judge, gulping. "I can't legallydo it. " Corrigan laughed. "Appoint a receiver to operate the mine, pending theSupreme Court decision. Appoint Braman. Graney has no case, anyway. Thereis no record or deed. " "There is no need of haste, " Lindman cautioned; "you can't get miningmachinery here for some time yet. " Corrigan laughed, dragging the Judge to a window, from which he pointedout some flat-cars standing on a siding, loaded with lumber, machinery, corrugated iron, shutes, cables, trucks, "T" rails, and other articlesthat the Judge did not recognize. The Judge exclaimed in astonishment. Corrigan grunted. "I ordered that stuff six weeks ago, in anticipation of my victory in yourcourt. You can see how I trusted in your honesty and perspicacity. I'llhave it on the ground tomorrow--some of it today. Of course I want toproceed legally, and in order to do that I'll have to have the court orderthis morning. You do whatever is necessary. " At daylight he was in the laborers' camp, skirting the railroad at theedge of town, looking for Carson. He found the big Irishman in one of thelarger tent-houses, talking with the cook, who was preparing breakfastamid a smother of smoke and the strong mingled odors of frying bacon andcoffee. Corrigan went only to the flap of the tent, motioning Carsonoutside. Walking away from the tent toward some small frame buildings down thetrack, Corrigan said: "There are several carloads of material there, " pointing to the flat-carswhich he had shown to the Judge. "I've hired a mining man to superintendthe erection of that stuff--it's mining machinery and material forbuildings. I want you to place as many of your men as you can spare at thedisposal of the engineer; his name's Pickand, and you'll find him at thecars at eight o'clock. I'll have some more laborers sent over from thedam. Give him as many men as he wants; go with him yourself, if he wantsyou. " "What are ye goin' to mine?" "Coal. " "Where?" "I've been looking over the land with Pickand; he says we'll sink a shaftat the base of the butte below the mesa, where you are laying tracks now. We won't have to go far, Pickand says. There's coal--thick veins ofit--running back into the wall of the butte. " "All right, sir, " said Carson. But he scratched his head in perplexity, eyeing Corrigan sidelong. "Ye woudn't be sayin' that ye'll be diggin' forcoal on the railroad's right av way, wud ye?" "No!" snapped Corrigan. "Thin it will be on Trevison's land. Have ye bargained wid him for it?" "No! Look here, Carson. Mind your own business and do as you're told!" "I'm elicted, I s'pose; but it's a job I ain't admirin' to do. If ye'vegot half the sinse I give ye credit for havin', ye'll be lettin' that monTrevison alone--I'd a lot sooner smoke a segar in that shed av dynamitethan to cross him!" Corrigan smiled and turned to look in the direction in which the Irishmanwas pointing. A small, flat-roofed frame building, sheathed withcorrugated iron, met his view. Crude signs, large enough to be readhundreds of feet distant, were affixed to the walls: "CAUTION. DYNAMITE. " "Do you keep much of it there?" "Enough for anny blastin' we have to do. There's plenty--half a ton, mebbe. " "Who's got the key?" "Meself. " Corrigan returned to town, breakfasted, mounted a horse and rode out tothe dam, where he gave orders for some laborers to be sent to Carson. Atnine o'clock he was back in Manti talking with Pickand, and watching thedinky engine as it pulled the loaded flat-cars westward over the tracks. He left Pickand and went to his office in the bank building, where heconferred with some men regarding various buildings and improvements incontemplation, and shortly after ten, glancing out of a window, he saw abuckboard stop in front of the _Castle_ hotel. Corrigan waited a little, then closed his desk and walked across the street. Shortly he confrontedHester Harvey in her room. He saw from her downcast manner that she hadfailed. His face darkened. "Wouldn't work, eh? What did he say?" The woman was hunched down in her chair, still wearing the cloak that shehad worn in Trevison's office; the collar still up, the front thrown open. Her hair was disheveled; dark lines were under her eyes; she glared atCorrigan in an abandon of savage dejection. "He turned me down--cold. " Her laugh held the bitterness of self-derision. "I'm through, there, Jeff. " "Hell!" cursed the man. She looked at him, her lips curving with amusedcontempt. "Oh, you're all right--don't worry. That's all you care about, isn't it?"She laughed harshly at the quickened light in his eyes. "You'd see mesacrifice myself; you wouldn't give me a word of sympathy. That's you!That's the way of all men. Give, give, give! That's the masculinechorus--the hunting-song of the human wolf-pack!" "Don't talk like that--it ain't like you, kid. You were always the gamestlittle dame I ever knew. " He essayed to take the hand that was twisted inthe folds of her cloak, but she drew it away from him in a fury. And theeagerness in his eyes betrayed the insincerity of his attempt atconsolation; she saw it--the naked selfishness of his look--and sneered athim. "You want the good news, eh? The good for you? That's all you care about. After you get it, I'll get the husks of your pity. Well, here it is. I'vepoisoned them both--against each other. I told him she was against him inthis land business. And it hurt me to see how gamely he took it, Jeff!"her voice broke, but she choked back the sob and went on, hoarsely: "Hedidn't make a whimper. Not even when I told him you were going to marryher--that you were engaged. But there was a fire in those eyes of his thatI would give my soul to see there for me!" "Yes--yes, " said the man, impatiently. "Oh, you devil!" she railed at him. "I've made him think it was a frame-upbetween you and her--to get information out of him; I told him that shehad strung him along for a month or so--amusing herself. And he believesit. " "Good!" "And I've made her believe that he sent for me, " she went on, her voiceleaping to cold savagery. "I stayed all night at his place, and I wentback to the Bar B in the morning--this morning--and made Rosalind Benhamthink--Ha, ha! She ordered me away from the house--the hussy! She'sthrough with him--any fool could tell that. But it's different with him, Jeff. He won't give her up; he isn't that kind. He'll fight for her--andhe'll have her!" The eager, pleased light died out of Corrigan's face, his lips set in anugly pout. But he contrived to smile as he got up. "You've done well--so far. But don't give him up. Maybe he'll change hismind. Stay here--I'll stake you to the limit. " He laid a roll of bills ona stand--she did not look at them--and approached her in a second endeavorto console her. But she waved him away, saying: "Get out of here--I wantto think!" And he obeyed, looking back before he closed the door. "Selfish?" he muttered, going down the street. "Well, what of it? That's ahuman weakness, isn't it? Get what you want, and to hell with otherpeople!" * * * * * Trevison had gone to his room for a much-needed rest. He had watchedHester Harvey go with no conscious regret, but with a certain grim pity, which was as futile as her visit. But, lying on the bed he fought hardagainst the bitter scorn that raged in him over the contemplation ofRosalind Benham's duplicity. He found it hard to believe that she had beenduping him, for during the weeks of his acquaintance with her he hadstudied her much--with admiration-weighted prejudice, of course, since shemade a strong appeal to him--and he had been certain, then, that she wasas free from guile as a child--excepting any girl's natural artifices bywhich she concealed certain emotions that men had no business trying toread. He had read some of them--his business or not--and he had imaginedhe had seen what had fired his blood--a reciprocal affection. He would nothave declared himself, otherwise. He went to sleep, thinking of her. He awoke about noon, to see Barkwellstanding at his side, shaking him. "Have you got any understandin' with that railroad gang that they're to doany minin' on the Diamond K range?" "No. " "Well, they're gettin' ready to do it. Over at the butte near the railroadcut. I passed there a while ago an' quizzed the big guy--Corrigan--about agang workin' there. He says they're goin' to mine coal. I asked him if hehad your permission an' he said he didn't need it. I reckon they ain'tnone shy on gall where that guy come from!" Trevison got out of bed and buckled on his cartridge belt and pistol. "Theboys are working the Willow Creek range, " he said, sharply. "Get them, tell them to load up with plenty of cartridges, and join me at thebutte. " He heard Barkwell go leaping down the stairs, his spurs striking the stepedges, and a few minutes later, riding Nigger out of the corral he saw theforeman racing away in a dust cloud. He followed the bed of the river, himself, going at a slow lope, for he wanted time to think--to gaincontrol of the rage that boiled in his veins. He conquered it, and when hecame in sight of the butte he was cool and deliberate, though on his facewas that "mean" look that Carson had once remarked about to his friendMurphy, partly hidden by the "tiger" smile which, the Irishman haddiscovered, preceded action, ruthless and swift. The level below the butte was a-buzz with life and energy. Scores oflaborers were rushing about under the direction of a tall, thin, bespectacled man who seemed to be the moving spirit in all the activity. He shouted orders to Carson--Trevison saw the big figure of the Irishmandominating the laborers--who repeated them, added to them; sending menscampering hither and thither. Pausing at a little distance down thelevel, Trevison watched the scene. At first all seemed confusion, butpresently he was able to discern that method ruled. For he now observedthat the laborers were divided into "gangs. " Some were unloading theflat-cars, others were "assembling" a stationary engine near the wall ofthe butte. They had a roof over it, already. Others were laying tracksthat intersected with the main line; still others were erecting buildingsalong the level. They were on Trevison's land--there was no doubt of that. Moreover, they were erecting their buildings and apparatus at the pointwhere Trevison himself had contemplated making a start. He saw Corriganseated on a box on one of the flat-cars, smoking a cigar; another man, whom Trevison recognized as Gieger--he would have been willing to swearthe man was one of those who had thwarted his plans in thecourthouse--standing beside him, a Winchester rifle resting in the hollowof his left arm. Trevison urged Nigger along the level, down the track, and halted near Corrigan and Gieger. He knew that Corrigan had seen him, but it pleased the other to pretend that he had not. "This is your work, Corrigan--I take it?" said Trevison, bluntly. Corrigan turned slowly. He was a good actor, for he succeeded in getting afairly convincing counterfeit of surprise into his face as his gaze fellon his enemy. "You have taken it correctly, sir. " He smiled blandly, though there was asnapping alertness in his eyes that belied his apparent calmness. Heturned to Gieger, ignoring Trevison. "Organization is the thing. Pickandis a genius at it, " he said. Trevison's eyes flamed with rage over this deliberate insult. But in it hesaw a cold design to make him lose his temper. The knowledge brought atwisting smile to his face. "You have permission to begin this work, I suppose?" Corrigan turned again, as though astonished at the persistence of theother. "Certainly, sir. This work is being done under a court order, issued this morning. I applied for it yesterday. I am well within my legalrights, the court having as you are aware, settled the question of thetitle. " "You know I have appealed the case?" "I have not been informed that you have done so. In any event such anappeal would not prevent me mining the coal on the property, pending thehearing of the case in the higher court. Judge Lindman has appointed areceiver, who is bonded; and the work is to proceed under his direction. Iam here merely as an onlooker. " He looked fairly at Trevison, his eyes gleaming with cold derision. Theexpression maddened the other beyond endurance, and his eyes danced thechill glitter of meditated violence, unrecking consequences. "You're a sneaking crook, Corrigan, and you know it! You're going too far!You've had Braman appointed in order to escape the responsibility! You'rehiding behind him like a coward! Come out into the open and fight like aman!" Corrigan's face bloated poisonously, but he made no hostile move. "I'llkill you for that some day!" he whispered. "Not now, " he laughedmirthlessly as the other stiffened; "I can't take the risk right now--I'vetoo much depending on me. But you've been damned impertinent andtroublesome, and when I get you where I want you I'm going to serve youlike this!" And he took the cigar from his mouth, dropped it to the floorof the car and ground it to pieces under his heel. He looked up again, atTrevison, and their gaze met, in each man's eyes glowed the knowledge ofimminent action, ruthless and terrible. Trevison broke the tension with a laugh that came from between his teeth. "Why delay?" he mocked. "I've been ready for the grinding process sincethe first day. " "Enough of this!" Corrigan turned to Gieger with a glance of coldintolerance. "This man is a nuisance, " he said to the deputy. "Carry outthe mandate of the court and order him away. If he doesn't go, kill him!He is a trespasser, and has no right here!" And he glared at Trevison. "You've got to get out, mister, " said the deputy. He tapped his riflemenacingly, betraying a quick accession of rage that he caught, no doubt, from Corrigan. Trevison smiled coldly, and backed Nigger a little. For aninstant he meditated resistance, and dropped his right hand to the butt ofhis pistol. A shout distracted his attention. It came from behind him--itsounded like a warning, and he wheeled, to see Carson running toward him, not more than ten feet distant, waving his hands, a huge smile on hisface. "Domned if it ain't Trevison!" he yelled as he lunged forward and caughtTrevison's right hand in his own, pulling the rider toward him. "I've beenwantin' to spake a word wid ye for two weeks now--about thim cows which mebrother in Illinoy has been askin' me about, an' divvil a chance have Ihad to see ye!" And as he yanked Trevison's shoulders downward with asudden pressure that there was no resisting, he whispered, rapidly. "Diputies--thirty av thim wid Winchesters--on the other side av theflat-cars. It's a thrap to do away wid ye--I heard 'em cookin' it!" "An' ye wudn't be sellin' 'em to me at twinty-five, eh?" he said, aloud. "Go 'long wid ye--ye're a domned hold-up man, like all the rist av thim!"And he slapped the black horse playfully in the ribs and laughed gleefullyas the animal lunged at him, ears laid back, mouth open. His eyes cold, his lips hard and straight, Trevison spurred the blackagain to the flat-car. "The bars are down between us, Corrigan; it's man to man from now on. Lawor no law, I give you twenty-four hours to get your men and apparatus offmy land. After that I won't be responsible for what happens!" He heard ashout behind him, a clatter, and he turned to see ten or twelve of his menracing over the level toward him. At the same instant he heard a sharpexclamation from Corrigan; heard Gieger issue a sharp order, and a line ofmen raised their heads above the flat-cars, rifles in their hands, whichthey trained on the advancing cowboys. Nigger leaped; his rider holding up one hand, the palm toward his men, asa sign to halt, while he charged into them. Trevison talked fast to them, while the laborers, suspending work, watched, muttering; and the rifles, resting on the flat-cars, grew steadier in their owners' hands. Thesilence grew deeper; the tension was so great that when somewhere a mandropped a shovel, it startled the watchers like a sudden bomb. It was plain that Trevison's men wanted to fight. It was equally plainthat Trevison was arguing to dissuade them. And when, muttering, andcasting belligerent looks backward, they finally drew off, Trevisonfollowing, there was a sigh of relief from the watchers, while Corrigan'sface was black with disappointment. CHAPTER XIX A WOMAN RIDES IN VAIN Out of Rosalind Benham's resentment against Trevison for the Hester Harveyincident grew a sudden dull apathy--which presently threatened to becomean aversion--for the West. Its crudeness, the uncouthness of its people;the emptiness, the monotony, began to oppress her. Noticing the waning ofher enthusiasm, Agatha began to inject energetic condemnations of thecountry into her conversations with the girl, and to hint broadly of thecontrasting allurements of the East. But Rosalind was not yet ready to desert the Bar B. She had been hurt, andher interest in the country had dulled, but there were memories over whichone might meditate until--until one could be certain of some things. Thiswas hope, insistently demanding delay of judgment. The girl could notforget the sincere ring in Trevison's voice when he had told her that hewould never go back to Hester Harvey. Arrayed against this declaration wasthe cold fact of Hester's visit, and Hester's statement that Trevison hadsent for her. In this jumble of contradiction hope found a fertile field. If Corrigan had anticipated that the knowledge of Hester's visit toTrevison would have the effect of centering Rosalind's interest on him, hehad erred. Corrigan was magnetic; the girl felt the lure of him. In hispresence she was continually conscious of his masterfulness, with adismayed fear that she would yield to it. She knew this sensation was notlove, for it lacked the fire and the depth of the haunting, breathlesssurge of passion that she had felt when she had held Trevison off the daywhen he had declared his love for her--that she felt whenever she thoughtof him. But with Trevison lost to her--she did not know what would happen, then. For the present her resentment was sufficient to keep her mindoccupied. She had a dread of meeting Corrigan this morning. Also, Agatha's continueddeprecatory speeches had begun to annoy her, and at ten o'clock sheordered one of the men to saddle her horse. She rode southward, following a trail that brought her to Levins' cabin. The cabin was built of logs, smoothly hewn and tightly joined, situated atthe edge of some timber in a picturesque spot at a point where a shallowcreek doubled in its sweep toward some broken country west of Manti. Rosalind had visited Mrs. Levins many times. The warmth of her welcome onher first visit had resulted in a quick intimacy which, with an immediateestimate of certain needs by Rosalind, had brought her back in the rôle ofLady Bountiful. "Chuck" and "Sissy" Levins welcomed her vociferously asshe splashed across the river to the door of the cabin this morning. "You're clean spoilin' them, Miss Rosalind!" declared the mother, watchingfrom the doorway; "they've got so they expect you to bring them a presentevery time you come. " Sundry pats and kisses sufficed to assuage the pangs of disappointmentsuffered by the children, and shortly afterward Rosalind was inside thecabin, talking with Mrs. Levins, and watching Clay, who was painstakinglymending a breach in his cartridge belt. Rosalind had seen Clay once only, and that at a distance, and she stoleinterested glances at him. There was a certain attraction in Clay's leanface, with its cold, alert furtiveness, but it was an attraction that bredchill instead of warmth, for his face revealed a wild, reckless, intolerant spirit, remorseless, contemptuous of law and order. Severaltimes she caught him watching her, and his narrowed, probing glancesdisconcerted her. She cut her visit short because of his presence, andwhen she rose to go he turned in his chair. "You like this country, ma'am?" "Well--yes. But it is much different, after the East. " "Some smoother there, eh? Folks are slicker?" She eyed him appraisingly, for there was an undercurrent of significancein his voice. She smiled. "Well--I suppose so. You see, competition iskeener in the East, and it rather sharpens one's wits, I presume. " "H'm. I reckon you're right. This railroad has brought some _mighty_ slickones here. Mighty slick an' gally. " He looked at her truculently. "Corrigan's one of the slick ones. Friend of yours, eh?" "Clay!" remonstrated his wife, sharply. He turned on her roughly. "You keep out of this! I ain't meanin' nothin'wrong. But I reckon when anyone's got a sneakin' coyote for a friend an'don't know it, it's doin' 'em a good turn to spit things right out, frankan' fair. "This Corrigan ain't on the level, ma'am. Do you know what he's doin'?He's skinnin' the folks in this country out of about a hundred thousandacres of land. He's clouded every damn title. He's got a fake bill of saleto show that he bought the land years ago--which he didn't--an' he's got alittle beast of a judge here to back him up in his play. They've done awaywith the original record of the land, an' rigged up another, which makesCorrigan's title clear. It's the rankest robbery that any man ever triedto pull off, an' if he's a friend of yourn you ought to cut him off yourvisitin' list!" "How do you know that? Who told you?" asked the girl, her face whitening, for the man's vehemence and evident earnestness were convincing. "'Brand' Trevison told me. It hits him mighty damned hard. He had a deedto his land. Corrigan broke open his office an' stole it. Trevison'scertain sure his deed was on the record, for he went to Dry Bottom withBuck Peters--the man he bought the land from--an' seen it wrote down onthe record!" He laughed harshly. "There's goin' to be hell to pay here. Trevison won't stand for it--though the other gillies are advisin'caution. Caution hell! I'm for cleanin' the scum out! Do you know whatCorrigan done, yesterday? He got thirty or so deputies--pluguglies thathe's hired--an' hid 'em behind some flat-cars down on the level wherethey're erectin' some minin' machinery. He laid a trap for 'Firebrand, 'expectin' him to come down there, rippin' mad because they was puttin' theminin' machinery up on his land, wi'out his permission. They was goin' toshoot him--Corrigan put 'em up to it. That Carson fello' heard it an' put'Firebrand' wise. An' the shootin' didn't come off. But that's only thebeginnin'!" "Did Trevison tell you to tell me this?" The girl was stunned, amazed, incredulous. For her father was concerned in this, and if he had anyknowledge that Corrigan was stealing land--if he _was_ stealing it--he wasguilty as Corrigan. If he had no knowledge of it, she might be able toprevent the steal by communicating with him. "Trevison tell me?" laughed Levins, scornfully; "'Firebrand' ain't nopussy-kitten fighter which depends on women standin' between him an'trouble. I'm tellin' you on my own hook, so's that big stiff Corriganwon't get swelled up, thinkin' he's got a chance to hitch up with you inthe matrimonial wagon. That guy's got murder in his heart, girl. Did youhear of me shootin' that sneak, Marchmont?" The girl had heard rumors ofthe affair; she nodded, and Levins went on. "It was Corrigan that hired meto do it--payin' me a thousand, cash. " His wife gasped, and he spokegently to her. "That's all right, Ma; it wasn't no cold-bloodedaffair--Jim Marchmont knowed a sister of mine pretty intimate, when he wasout here years ago, an' I settled a debt that I thought I owed to her, that's all. I ain't none sorry, neither--I knowed him soon as Corriganmentioned his name. But I hadn't no time to call his attention tothings--I had to plug him, sudden. I'm sorry I've said this, ma'am, nowthat it's out, " he said in a changed voice, noting the girl's distress;"but I felt you ought to know who you're dealin' with. " Rosalind went out, swaying, her knees shaking. She heard Levins' wifereproving him; heard the man replying gruffly. She felt that it _must_ beso. She cared nothing about Corrigan, beyond a certain regret, but a waveof sickening fear swept over her at the growing conviction that her father_must_ know something of all this. And if, as Levins said, Corrigan wasattempting to defraud these people, she felt that common justice requiredthat she head him off, if possible. By defeating Corrigan's aim she would, of course, be aiding Trevison, and through him Hester Harvey, whom she hadgrown to despise, but that hatred should not deter her. She mounted herhorse in a fever of anxiety and raced it over the plains toward Manti, determined to find Corrigan and force him to tell her the truth. Half way to town she saw a rider coming, and she slowed her own horse, taking the rider to be Corrigan, coming to the Bar B. She saw her mistakewhen the rider was within a hundred feet of her. She blushed, then paled, and started to pass the rider without speaking, for it was Trevison. Shelooked up when he urged Nigger against her animal, blocking the trail, frowning. "Look here, " he said; "what's wrong? Why do you avoid me? I saw you on theDiamond K range the other day, and when I started to ride toward you youwhipped up your horse. You tried to pass me just now. What have I done todeserve it?" She could not tell him about Hester Harvey, of course, and so she wassilent, blushing a little. He took her manner as an indication of guilt, and gritted his teeth with the pain that the discovery caused him, for hehad been hoping, too--that his suspicions of her were groundless. "I do not care to discuss the matter with you. " She looked fairly at him, her resentment flaming in her eyes, fiercely indignant over his effronteryin addressing her in that manner, after his affair with Hester Harvey. Shewas going to help him, but that did not mean that she was going to blindherself to his faults, or to accept them mutely. His bold confidence inhimself--which she had once admired--repelled her now; she saw in it thebrazen egotism of the gross sensualist, seeking new victims. "I am in a hurry, " she said, stiffly; "you will pardon me if I proceed. " He jumped Nigger off the trail and watched with gloomy, disappointed eyes, her rapid progress toward Manti. Then he urged Nigger onward, towardLevins' cabin. "I'll have to erect another monument to my faith in women, "he muttered. And certain reckless, grim thoughts that had rioted in hismind since the day before, now assumed a definiteness that made his bloodleap with eagerness. Later, when Rosalind sat opposite Corrigan at his desk, she found it hardto believe Levins' story. The big man's smooth plausibility made Levins'recital seem like the weird imaginings of a disordered mind, goaded todesperation by opposition. And again, his magnetism, his politeconsideration for her feelings, his ingenuous, smiling deference--sosharply contrasted with Trevison's direct bluntness--swayed her, and shesat, perplexed, undecided, when he finished the explanation she had coldlydemanded of him. "It is the invariable defense of these squatters, " he added; "that theyare being robbed. In this case they have embellished their hackneyed talesomewhat by dragging the court into it, and telling you that absurd storyabout the shooting of Marchmont. Could you tell me what possible interestI could have in wanting Marchmont killed? Don't you think, Miss Rosalind, that Levins' reference to his sister discloses the real reason for theman's action? Levins' story that I paid him a thousand dollars is afabrication, pure and simple. I paid Jim Marchmont a thousand dollars thatmorning, which was the balance due him on our contract. The transactionwas witnessed by Judge Lindman. After Marchmont was shot, Levins took themoney from him. " "Why wasn't Levins arrested?" "It seems that public opinion was with Levins. A great many people hereknew of the ancient trouble between them. " He passed from that, quickly. "The tale of the robbery of Trevison's office is childlike, for the reasonthat Trevison had no deed. Judge Lindman is an honored and respectedofficial. And--" he added as a last argument "--your father is therespected head of a large and important railroad. Is it logical to supposethat he would lend his influence and his good name to any such ridiculousscheme?" She sighed, almost convinced. Corrigan went on, earnestly: "This man Trevison is a disturber--he has always been that. He has norespect for the law or property. He associates with the self-confessedmurderer, Levins. He is a riotous, reckless, egotistical fool who, becausethe law stands in the way of his desires, wishes to trample it under footand allow mob rule to take its place. Do you remember you mentioned thathe once loved a woman named Hester Keyes? Well, he has brought Hesterhere--" She got up, her chin at a scornful angle. "I do not care to hear about hispersonal affairs. " She went out, mounted her horse, and rode slowly outthe Bar B trail. From a window Corrigan watched her, and as she vanishedinto the distance he turned back to his desk, meditating darkly. "Trevison put Levins up to that. He's showing yellow. " CHAPTER XX AND RIDES AGAIN--IN VAIN Rosalind's reflections as she rode toward the Bar B convinced her thatthere had been much truth in Corrigan's arraignment of Trevison. Out ofher own knowledge of him, and from his own admission to her on the daythey had ridden to Blakeley's the first time, she adduced evidence of hispredilection for fighting, of his utter disregard for acceptedauthority--when that authority disagreed with his conception of justice;of his lawlessness when his desires were in question. His impetuosity wasnotorious, for it had earned him the sobriquet "Firebrand, " which he couldnot have acquired except through the exhibition of those traits that shehad enumerated. She was disappointed and spiritless when she reached the ranchhouse, andvery tired, physically. Agatha's questions irritated her, and she atesparingly of the food set before her, eager to be alone. In the isolationof her room she lay dumbly on the bed, and there the absurdity of Levins'story assailed her. It must be as Corrigan had said--her father was toogreat a man to descend to such despicable methods. She dropped off tosleep. When she awoke the sun had gone down, and her room was cheerless in thesemi-dusk. She got up, washed, combed her hair, and much refreshed, wentdownstairs and ate heartily, Agatha watching her narrowly. "You are distraught, my dear, " ventured her relative. "I don't think thiscountry agrees with you. Has anything happened?" The girl answered evasively, whereat Agatha compressed her lips. "Don't you think that a trip East--" "I shall not go home this summer!" declared Rosalind, vehemently. Andnoting the flash in the girl's eyes, belligerent and defiant; her swellingbreast, the warning brilliance of her eyes, misty with pent-up emotion, Agatha wisely subsided and the meal was finished in a strained silence. Later, Rosalind went out, alone, upon the porch where, huddled in a bigrocker, she gazed gloomily at the lights of Manti, dim and distant. Something of the turmoil and the tumult of the town in its young strengthand vigor, assailed her, contrasting sharply with the solemn peace of herown surroundings. Life had been a very materialistic problem to her, heretofore. She had lived it according to her environment, a mereonlooker, detached from the scheme of things. Something of the meaning oflife trickled into her consciousness as she sat there watching theflickering lights of the town--something of the meaning of it all--thestruggle of these new residents twanged a hidden chord of sympathy andunderstanding in her. She was able to visualize them as she sat there. Faces flashed before her--strong, stern, eager; the owner of each a-thrillwith his ambition, going forward in the march of progress with definiteaim, planning, plotting, scheming--some of them winning, others losing, but all obsessed with a feverish desire of success. The railroad, thetown, the ranches, the new dam, the people--all were elements of aconflict, waged ceaselessly. She sat erect, her blood tingling. Blows werebeing struck, taken. "Oh, " she cried, sharply; "it's a game! It's the spirit of the nation--tofight, to press onward, to win!" And in that moment she was seized with athrobbing sympathy for Trevison, and filled with a yearning that he mightwin, in spite of Corrigan, Hester Harvey, and all the others--even herfather. For he was a courageous player of this "game. " In him was typifiedthe spirit of the nation. * * * * * Rosalind might have added something to her thoughts had she known of thepassions that filled Trevison when, while she sat on the porch of the BarB ranchhouse, he mounted Nigger and sent him scurrying through the mellowmoonlight toward Manti. He was playing the "game, " with justice as hisgoal. The girl had caught something of the spirit of it all, but she hadneglected to grasp the all-important element of the relations between men, without which laws, rules, and customs become farcical and ridiculous. Hewas determined to have justice. He knew well that Judge Graney's missionto Washington would result in failure unless the deed to his propertycould be recovered, or the original record disclosed. Even then, with aweak and dishonest judge on the bench the issue might be muddled by a massof legal technicalities. The court order permitting Braman to operate amine on his property goaded him to fury. He stopped at Hanrahan's saloon, finding Lefingwell there and talking withhim for a few minutes. Lefingwell's docile attitude disgusted him--he saidhe had talked the matter over with a number of the other owners, and theyhad expressed themselves as being in favor of awaiting the result of hisappeal. He left Lefingwell, not trusting himself to argue the question ofthe man's attitude, and went down to the station, where he found atelegram awaiting him. It was from Judge Graney: Coming home. Case sent back to Circuit Court for hearing. Depend on you to get evidence. Trevison crumpled the paper and shoved it savagely into a pocket. He stoodfor a long time on the station platform, in the dark, glowering at thelights of the town, then started abruptly and made his way into thegambling room of the _Plaza_, where he somberly watched the players. Therattle of chips, the whir of the wheel, the monotonous drone of the farodealer, the hum of voices, some eager, some tense, others exultant orgrumbling, the incessant jostling, irritated him. He went out the frontdoor, stepped down into the street, and walked eastward. Passing an openspace between two buildings he became aware of the figure of a woman, andhe wheeled as she stepped forward and grasped his arm. He recognized herand tried to pass on, but she clung to him. "Trev!" she said, appealingly; "I want to talk with you. It's veryimportant--really. Just a minute, Trev. Won't you talk _that_ long! Cometo my room--where--" "Talk fast, " he admonished, holding her off, "--and talk here. " She struggled with him, trying to come closer, twisting so that her bodystruck his, and the contact brought a grim laugh out of him. He seized herby the shoulders and held her at arm's length. "Talk from there--it'ssafer. Now, if you've anything important--" "O Trev--please--" She laughed, almost sobbing, but forced the tears backwhen she saw derision blazing in his eyes. "I told you it was all over!" He pushed her away and started off, but hehad taken only two steps when she was at his side again. "I saw you from my window, Trev. I--I knew it was you--I couldn't mistakeyou, anywhere. I followed you--saw you go into the _Plaza_. I came to warnyou. Corrigan has planned to goad you into doing some rash thing so thathe will have an excuse to jail or kill you!" "Where did you hear that?" "I--I just heard it. I was in the bank today, and I overheard him talkingto a man--some officer, I think. Be careful, Trev--very careful, won'tyou?" "Careful as I can, " he laughed, lowly. "Thank you. " He started on again, and she grasped his arm. "Trev, " she pleaded. "What's the use, Hester?" he said; "it can't be. " "Well, God bless you, anyway, dear, " she said chokingly. He passed on, leaving her in the shadows of the buildings, and walked farout on the plains. Making a circuit to avoid meeting the woman again, heskirted the back yards, stumbling over tin cans and debris in hisprogress. When he got to the shed where he had hitched Nigger he mountedand rode down the railroad tracks toward the cut, where an hour later hewas joined by Clay Levins, who came toward him, riding slowly andcautiously. * * * * * Patrick Carson had wooed sleep unsuccessfully. For hours he lay on his cotin the tent, staring out through the flap at the stars. A vague unrest hadseized him. He heard the hilarious din of Manti steadily decrease involume until only intermittent noises reached his ears. But even whencomparative peace came he was still wide awake. "I'll be gettin' the willies av I lay here much longer widout slape, " heconfided to his pillow. "Mebbe a turn down the track wid me dujeen wud dothe thrick. " He got up, lighted his pipe and strode off into thesemi-gloom of the railroad track. He went aimlessly, paying littleattention to objects around him. He passed the tents wherein the laborerslay--and smiled as heavy snores smote his ears. "They slape a heap harderthan they worruk, bedad!" he observed, grinning. "Nothin' c'ud trouble aginney's conscience, annyway, " he scoffed. "But, accordin' to that theymust be a heap on me own!" Which observation sent his thoughts toCorrigan. "Begob, there's a man! A domned rogue, if iver they was one!" He passed the tents, smoking thoughtfully. He paused when he came to thesmall buildings scattered about at quite a distance from the tents, thenleft the tracks and made his way through the deep alkali dust towardthem. "Whativer wud Corrigan be askin' about the dynamite for? 'How much do yekape av it?' he was askin'. As if it was anny av his business!" He stopped puffing at his pipe and stood rigid, watching with bulgingeyes, for he saw the door of the dynamite shed move outward severalinches, as though someone inside had shoved it. It closed again, slowly, and Carson was convinced that he had been seen. He was no coward, but acold sweat broke out on him and his knees doubled weakly. For any man whowould visit the dynamite shed around midnight, in this stealthy manner, must be in a desperate frame of mind, and Carson's virile imagination drewlurid pictures of a gun duel in which a stray shot penetrated the wall ofthe shed. He shivered at the roar of the explosion that followed; he evendrew a gruesome picture of stretchers and mangled flesh that brought agroan out of him. But in spite of his mental stress he lunged forward, boldly, though hisbreath wheezed from his lungs in great gasps. His body lagged, but hiswill was indomitable, once he quit looking at the pictures of hisimagination. He was at the door of the shed in a dozen strides. The lock had been forced; the hasp was hanging, suspended from a twistedstaple. Carson had no pistol--it would have been useless, anyway. Carson hesitated, vacillating between two courses. Should he return forhelp, or should he secrete himself somewhere and watch? The utterfoolhardiness of attempting the capture of the prowler single handedassailed him, and he decided on retreat. He took one step, and then stoodrigid in his tracks, for a voice filtered thinly through the doorway, hoarse, vibrant: "Don't forget the fuses. " Carson's lips formed the word: "Trevison!" Carson's breath came easier; his thoughts became more coherent, hisrecollection vivid; his sympathies leaped like living things. When histhoughts dwelt upon the scene at the butte during Trevison's visit whilethe mining machinery was being erected--the trap that Corrigan hadprepared for the man--a grim smile wreathed his face, for he stronglysuspected what was meant by Trevison's visit to the dynamite shed. He slipped cautiously around a corner of the shed, making no sound in thedeep dust surrounding it, and stole back the way he had come, tingling. "Begob, I'll slape now--a little while!" As Carson vanished down the tracks a head was stuck out through thedoorway of the shed and turned so that its owner could scan hissurroundings. "All clear, " he whispered. "Get going, then, " said another voice, and two men, their faces muffledwith handkerchiefs, bearing something that bulked their pockets oddly, slipped out of the door and fled noiselessly, like gliding shadows, downthe track toward the cut. * * * * * Rosalind had been asleep in the rocker. A cool night breeze, laden withthe strong, pungent aroma of sage, sent a shiver over her and she awoke, to see that the lights of Manti had vanished. An eerie lonesomeness hadsettled around her. "Why, it must be nearly midnight!" she said. She got up, yawning, andstepped toward the door, wondering why Agatha had not called her. ButAgatha had retired, resenting the girl's manner. Almost to the door, Rosalind detected movement in the ghostly semi-lightthat flooded the plains between the porch and the picturesque spot, morethan a mile away, on which Levins' cabin stood. She halted at the door andwatched, and when the moving object resolved into a horse, loping swiftly, she strained her eyes toward it. At first it seemed to have no rider, butwhen it had approached to within a hundred yards of her, she gasped, leaped off the porch and ran toward the horse. An instant later she stoodat the animal's head, voicing her astonishment. "Why, it's Chuck Levins! Why on earth are you riding around at this hourof the night?" "Sissy's sick. Maw wants you to please come an' see what you can do--if itain't too much trouble. " "Trouble?" The girl laughed. "I should say not! Wait until I saddle myhorse!" She ran to the porch and stole silently into the house, emerging with asmall medicine case, which she stuck into a pocket of her coat. Oncebefore she had had occasion to use her simple remedies on Sissy--anillness as simple as her remedies; but she could feel something of Mrs. Levins' concern for her offspring, and--and it was an ideal night for agallop over the plains. It was almost midnight by the Levins' clock when she entered the cabin, and a quick diagnosis of her case with an immediate application of one ofher remedies, brought results. At half past twelve Sissy was sleepingpeacefully, and Chuck had dozed off, fully dressed, no doubt ready tore-enact his manly and heroic rôle upon call. It was not until Rosalind was ready to go that Mrs. Levins apologized forher husband's rudeness to his guest. "Clay feels awfully bitter against Corrigan. It's because Corrigan isfighting Trevison--and Trevison is Clay's friend--they've been likebrothers. Trevison has done so much for us. " Rosalind glanced around the cabin. She had meant to ask Chuck why hisfather had not come on the midnight errand, but had forebore. "Mr. Levinsisn't here?" "Clay went away about nine o'clock. " The woman did not meet Rosalind'sdirect gaze; she flushed under it and looked downward, twisting herfingers in her apron. Rosalind had noted a strangeness in the woman'smanner when she had entered the cabin, but she had ascribed it to thechild's illness, and had thought nothing more of it. But now it burst uponher with added force, and when she looked up again Rosalind saw there wasan odd, strained light in her eyes--a fear, a dread--a sinister somethingthat she shrank from. Rosalind remembered the killing of Marchmont, andhad a quick divination of impending trouble. "What is it, Mrs. Levins? What has happened?" The woman gulped hard, and clenched her hands. Evidently, whatever hertrouble, she had determined to bear it alone, but was now wavering. "Tell me, Mrs. Levins; perhaps I can help you?" "You can!" The words burst sobbingly from the woman. "Maybe you canprevent it. But, oh, Miss Rosalind, I wasn't to say anything--Clay told menot to. But I'm so afraid! Clay's so hot-headed, and Trevison is sodaring! I'm afraid they won't stop at anything!" "But what is it?" demanded Rosalind, catching something of the woman'sexcitement. "It's about the machinery at the butte--the mining machinery. My God, you'll never say I told you--will you? But they're going to blow it uptonight--Clay and Trevison; they're going to dynamite it! I'm afraid therewill be murder done!" "Why didn't you tell me before?" The girl stood rigid, white, breathless. "Oh, I ought to, " moaned the woman. "But I was afraid you'dtell--Corrigan--somebody--and--and they'd get into trouble with the law!" "I won't tell--but I'll stop it--if there's time! For your sake. Trevisonis the one to blame. " She inquired about the location of the butte; the shortest trail, and thenran out to her horse. Once in the saddle she drew a deep breath and sentthe animal scampering into the flood of moonlight. * * * * * Down toward the cut the two men ran, and when they reached a gully at adistance of several hundred feet from the dynamite shed they came upontheir horses. Mounting, they rode rapidly down the track toward the buttewhere the mining machinery was being erected. They had taken thehandkerchiefs off while they ran, and now Trevison laughed with the heartyabandon of a boy whose mischievous prank has succeeded. "That was easy. I thought I heard a noise, though, when you backed againstthe door and shoved it open. " "Nobody usually monkeys around a dynamite shed at night, " returned Levins. "Whew! There's enough of that stuff there to blow Manti to KingdomCome--wherever that is. " They rode boldly across the level at the base of the butte, for they hadreconnoitered after meeting on the plains just outside of town, and knewCorrigan had left no one on guard. "It's a cinch, " Levins declared as they dismounted from their horses inthe shelter of a shoulder of the butte, about a hundred yards from wherethe corrugated iron building, nearly complete, loomed somberly on thelevel. "But if they'd ever get evidence that we done it--" Trevison laughed lowly, with a grim humor that made Levins look sharply athim. "That abandoned pueblo on the creek near your shack is built like afortress, Levins. " "What in hell has this job got to do with that dobie pile?" questioned theother. "Plenty. Oh, you're curious, now. But I'm going to keep you guessing for aday or two. " "You'll go loco--give you time, " scoffed Levins. "Somebody else will go crazy when this stuff lets go, " laughed Trevison, tapping his pockets. Levins snickered. They trailed the reins over the heads of their horses, and walked swiftly toward the corrugated iron building. Halting in theshadow of it, they held a hurried conference, and then separated, Trevisongoing toward the engine, already set up, with its flimsy roof covering it, and working around it for a few minutes, then darting from it to a smallbuilding filled with tools and stores, and to a pile of machinery andsupplies stacked against the wall of the butte. They worked rapidly, elusive as shadows in the deep gloom of the wall of the butte, and whentheir work was completed they met in the full glare of the moonlight nearthe corrugated iron building and whispered again. * * * * * Lashing her horse over a strange trail, Rosalind Benham came to a thicketof gnarled fir-balsam and scrub oak that barred her way completely. Shehad ridden hard and her horse breathed heavily during the short time shespent looking about her. Her own breath was coming sharply, sobbing in herthroat, but it was more from excitement than from the hazard and labor ofthe ride, for she had paid little attention to the trail, beyond givingthe horse direction, trusting to the animal's wisdom, accepting the risksas a matter-of-course. It was the imminence of violence that had arousedher, the portent of a lawless deed that might result in tragedy. She hadtold Mrs. Levins that she was doing this thing for _her_ sake, but sheknew better. She _did_ consider the woman, but she realized that herdominating passion was for the grim-faced young man who, discouraged, driven to desperation by the force of circumstances--just or not--wasfighting for what he considered were his rights--the accumulated resultsof ten years of exile and work. She wanted to save him from this deed, from the results of it, even though there was nothing but condemnation inher heart for him because of it. "To the left of the thicket is a slope, " Mrs. Levins had told her. Shestopped only long enough to get her bearings, and at her panting, "Go!"the horse leaped. They were at the crest of the slope quickly, facing thebottom, yawning, deep, dark. She shut her eyes as the horse took it, leaning back to keep from falling over the animal's head, holding tightlyto the pommel of the saddle. They got down, someway, and when she felt thelevel under them she lashed the horse again, and urged him around ashoulder of the precipitous wall that loomed above her, frowning andsomber. She heard a horse whinny as she flashed past the shoulder, her own beasttearing over the level with great catlike leaps, but she did not lookback, straining her eyes to peer into the darkness along the wall of thebutte for sight of the buildings and machinery. She saw them soon after passing the shoulder, and exclaimed her thankssharply. * * * * * "All set, " said one of the shadowy figures near the corrugated ironbuilding. A match flared, was applied to a stick of punk in the hands ofeach man, and again they separated, each running, applying the glowingwand here and there. Trevison's work took him longest, and when he leaped from the side of amound of supplies Levins was already running back toward the shoulderwhere they had left their horses. They joined, then split apart, theirweapons leaping into their hands, for they heard the rapid drumming ofhorse's hoofs. "They're coming!" panted Trevison, his jaws setting as he plunged ontoward the shoulder of the butte. "Run low and duck at the flash of theirguns!" he warned Levins. A wide swoop brought the oncoming horse around the shoulder of the butteinto full view. As the moonlight shone, momentarily, on the rider, Trevison cried out, hoarsely: "God, it's a woman!" He leaped, at the words, out of the shadow of the butte into the moonlightof the level, straight into the path of the running horse, which at sightof him slid, reared and came to a halt, snorting and trembling. Trevisonhad recognized the girl; he flung himself at the horse, muttering:"Dynamite!" seized the beast by the bridle, forced its head around despitethe girl's objections and incoherent pleadings--some phrases of which sankhome, but were disregarded. "Don't!" she cried, fiercely, as he struck the animal with his fist toaccelerate its movements. She was still crying to him, wildly, hysterically, as he got the animal's head around and slapped it sharply onthe hip, his pistol crashing at its heels. The frightened animal clattered over the back trail, Trevison runningafter it. He reached Nigger, flung himself into the saddle, and racedafter Levins, who was already far down the level, following Rosalind'shorse. At a turn in the butte he came upon them both, their horses halted, the girl berating Levins, the man laughing lowly at her. "Don't!" she cried to Trevison as he rode up. "Please, Trevison--don't let_that_ happen! It's criminal; it's outlawry!" "Too late, " he said grimly, and rode close to her to grasp the bridle ofher horse. Standing thus, they waited--an age, to the girl, in realityonly a few seconds. Then the deep, solemn silence of the night was splitby a hollow roar, which echoed and re-echoed as though a thousand thunderstorms had centered over their heads. A vivid flash, extended, effulgent, lit the sky, the earth rocked, the canyon walls towering above them seemedto sway and reel drunkenly. The girl covered her face with her hands. Another blast smote the night, reverberating on the heels of the other;there followed another and another, so quickly that they blended; thenanother, with a distinct interval between. Then a breathless, unreal calm, through which distant echoes rumbled; then a dead silence, shattered atlast by a heavy, distant clatter, as though myriad big hailstones werefalling on a pavement. And then another silence--the period of reelingcalm after an earthquake. "O God!" wailed the girl; "it is horrible!" "You've got to get out of here--the whole of Manti will be here in a fewminutes! Come on!" He urged Nigger farther down the canyon, and up a rocky slope that broughtthem to the mesa. The girl was trembling, her breath coming gaspingly. Hefaced her as they came to a halt, pityingly, with a certain doggedresignation in his eyes. "What brought you here? Who told you we were here?" he asked, gruffly. "It doesn't matter!" She faced him defiantly. "You have outraged the lawsof your country tonight! I hope you are punished for it!" He laughed, derisively. "Well, you've seen; you know. Go and inform yourfriends. What I have done I did after long deliberation in which Iconsidered fully the consequences to myself. Levins wasn't concerned init, so you don't need to mention his name. Your ranch is in thatdirection, Miss Benham. " He pointed southeastward, Nigger lunged, caughthis stride in two or three jumps, and fled toward the southwest. His riderdid not hear the girl's voice; it was drowned in clatter of hoofs as heand Levins rode. CHAPTER XXI ANOTHER WOMAN RIDES Trevison rode in to town the next morning. On his way he went to the edgeof the butte overlooking the level, and looked down upon the wreck andruin he had caused. Masses of twisted steel and iron met his gaze; thelevel was littered with debris, which a gang of men under Carson wasengaged in clearing away; a great section of the butte had been blastedout, earth, rocks, sand, had slid down upon much of the wreckage, partlyburying it. The utter havoc of the scene brought a fugitive smile to hislips. He saw Carson waving a hand to him, and he answered the greeting, notingas he did so that Corrigan stood at a little distance behind Carson, watching. Trevison did not give him a second look, wheeling Nigger andsending him toward Manti at a slow lope. As he rode away, Corrigan calledto Carson. "Your friend didn't seem to be much surprised. " Carson turned, making a grimace while his back was yet toward Corrigan, but grinning broadly when he faced around. "Didn't he now? I wasn't noticin'. But, begorra, how c'ud he be surprised, whin the whole domned country was rocked out av its bed be the blast! Wudye be expictin' him to fall over in a faint on beholdin' the wreck?" "Not he, " said Corrigan, coldly; "he's got too much nerve for that. " "Ain't he, now!" Carson looked guilelessly at the other. "Wud ye be havin'anny idee who done it?" Corrigan's eyes narrowed. "No, " he said shortly, and turned away. Trevison's appearance in Manti created a stir. He had achieved a doubleresult by his deed, for besides destroying the property and making itimpossible for Corrigan to resume work for a considerable time, he hadcaused Manti's interest to center upon him sharply, having shocked intothe town's consciousness a conception of the desperate battle that wasbeing waged at its doors. For Manti had viewed the devastated butte earlythat morning, and had come away, seething with curiosity to get a glimpseof the man whom everybody secretly suspected of being the cause of it. Many residents of the town had known Trevison before--in half an hourafter his arrival he was known to all. Public opinion was heavily in hisfavor and many approving comments were heard. "I ain't blamin' him a heap, " said a man in the _Belmont_. "If things isas you say they are, there ain't much more that a _man_ could do!" "The laws is made for the guys with the coin an' the pull, " said another, vindictively. "An' dynamite ain't carin' who's usin' it, " said another, slyly. Bothgrinned. The universal sympathy for the "under dog" oppressed by Justiceperverted or controlled, had here found expression. It was so all over Manti. Admiring glances followed Trevison; though hesaid no word concerning the incident; nor could any man have said, judgingfrom the expression of his face, that he was elated. He had business inManti--he completed it, and when he was ready to go he got on Nigger andloped out of town. "That man's nerve is as cold as a naked Eskimo at the North Pole, "commented an admirer. "If I'd done a thing like that I'd be layin' low tosee if any evidence would turn up against me. " "I reckon there ain't a heap of evidence, " laughed his neighbor. "I expecteverybody knows he done it, but knowin' an' provin' is two differentthings. " A mile out of town Trevison met Corrigan. The latter halted his horse whenhe saw Trevison and waited for him to come up. The big man's face wore anugly, significant grin. "You did a complete job, " he said, eyeing the other narrowly. "And theredoesn't seem to be any evidence. But look out! When a thing like thathappens there's always somebody around to see it, and if I can getevidence against you I'll send you up for it!" He noted a slight quickening of Trevison's eyes at his mention of awitness, and a fierce exultation leaped within him. Trevison laughed, looking the other fairly between the eyes. RosalindBenham hadn't informed on him. However, the day was not yet gone. "Get your evidence before you try to do any bluffing, " he challenged. Hespurred Nigger on, not looking back at his enemy. Corrigan rode to the laborers' tents, where he talked for a time with thecook. In the mess tent he stood with his back to a rough, pine-toppedtable, his hands on its edge. The table had not yet been cleared from themorning meal, for the cook had been interested in the explosion. He triedto talk of it with Corrigan, but the latter adroitly directed theconversation otherwise. The cook would have said they had a pleasant talk. Corrigan seemed very companionable this morning. He laughed a little; helistened attentively when the cook talked. After a while Corrigan fumbledin his pockets. Not finding a cigar, he looked eloquently at the cook'spipe, in the latter's mouth, belching much smoke. "Not a single cigar, " he said. "I'm dying for a taste of tobacco. " The cook took his pipe from his mouth and wiped the stem hastily on asleeve. "If you don't mind I've been suckin' on it, " he said, extendingit. "I wouldn't deprive you of it for the world. " Corrigan shifted hisposition, looked down at the table and smiled. "Luck, eh?" he said, picking up a black brier that lay on the table behind him. "Got plenty oftobacco?" The cook dove for a box in a corner and returned with a cloth sack, bulging. He watched while Corrigan filled the pipe, and grinned while hisguest was lighting it. "Carson'll be ravin' today for forgettin' his pipe. He must have left itlayin' on the table this mornin'--him bein' in such a rush to get down, tothe explosion. " "It's Carson's, eh?" Corrigan surveyed it with casual interest. "Well, "after taking a few puffs "--I'll say for Carson that he knows how to takecare of it. " He left shortly afterward, laying the pipe on the table where he had foundit. Five minutes later he was in Judge Lindman's presence, leaning overthe desk toward the other. "I want you to issue a warrant for Patrick Carson. I want him brought inhere for examination. Charge him with being an accessory before the fact, or anything that seems to fit the case. But throw him into the cooler--andkeep him there until he talks. He knows who broke into the dynamite shed, and therefore he knows who did the dynamiting. He's friendly withTrevison, and if we can make him admit he saw Trevison at the shed, we'vegot the goods. He warned Trevison the other day, when I had the deputieslined up at the butte, and I found his pipe this morning near the door ofthe dynamite shed. We'll make him talk, damn him!" * * * * * Banker Braman had closed the door between the front and rear rooms, pulleddown the shades of the windows, lighted the kerosene lamp, and by itswavering flicker was surveying his reflection in the small mirror affixedto one of the walls of the building. He was pleased, as the fatuousself-complacence of his look indicated, and carefully, almost fastidiouslydressed, and he could not deny himself this last look into the mirror, even though he was now five minutes late with his appointment. The fiveminutes threatened to become ten, for, in adjusting his tie-pin it slippedfrom his fingers, struck the floor and vanished, as though an evil fatehad gobbled it. He searched for it frenziedly, cursing lowly, but none the less viciously. It was quite by accident that when his patience was strained almost to thebreaking point, he struck his hand against a board that formed part of thepartition between his building and the courthouse next door, and tore ahuge chunk of skin from the knuckles. He paid little attention to theinjury, however, for the agitating of the board disclosed the glitteringrecreant, and he pounced upon it with the precision of a hawk upon itsprey, snarling triumphantly. "I'll nail that damned board up, some day!" he threatened. But he knew hewouldn't, for by lying on the floor and pulling the board out a trifle, hecould get a clear view of the interior of the courthouse, and could hearquite plainly, in spite of the presence of a wooden box resting againstthe wall on the other side. And some of the things that Braman had alreadyheard through the medium of the loose board were really interesting, notto say instructive, to him. He was ten minutes late in keeping his appointment. He might have beeneven later without being in danger of receiving the censure he deserved. For the lady received him in a loose wrapper and gracefully disorderedhair, a glance at which made Braman gasp in unfeigned admiration. "What's this?" he demanded with a pretense of fatherly severity, which heimagined became him very well in the presence of women. "Not ready yet, Mrs. Harvey?" The woman waved him to a chair with unsmiling unconcern; dropped intoanother, crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair, her hands foldedacross the back of her head, her sleeves, wide and flaring, sliding downbelow her elbows. She caught Braman's burning stare of interest in thisrevelation of negligence, and smiled at him in faint derision. "I'm tired, Croft. I've changed my mind about going to the FirstMerchants' Ball. I'd much rather sit here and chin you--if you don'tmind. " "Not a bit!" hastily acquiesced the banker. "In fact, I like the idea ofstaying here much better. It is more private, you know. " He grinnedsignificantly, but the woman's smile of faint derision changed merely toirony, which held steadily, making Braman's cheeks glow crimson. "Well, then, " she laughed, exulting in her power over him; "let's getbusy. What do you want to chin about?" "I'll tell you after I've wet my whistle, " said the banker, gayly. "I'mdry as a bone in the middle of the Sahara desert!" "I'll take mine 'straight, '" she laughed. Braman rang a bell. A waiter with glasses and a bottle appeared, entered, was paid, and departed, grinning without giving the banker any change froma ten dollar bill. The woman laughed immoderately at Braman's wolfish snarl. "Be a sport, Croft. Don't begrudge a poor waiter a few honestly earneddollars!" "And now, what has the loose-board telephone told you?" she asked, twohours later when flushed of face from frequent attacks on thebottle--Braman rather more flushed than she--they relaxed in their chairsafter a tilt at poker in which the woman had been the victor. "You're sure you don't care for Trevison any more--that you're only takinghis end of this because of what he's been to you in the past?" demandedthe banker, looking suspiciously at her. "He told me he didn't love me any more. I couldn't want him after that, could I?" "I should think not. " Braman's eyes glowed with satisfaction. But hehesitated, yielding when she smiled at him. "Damn it, I'd knife Corriganfor you!" he vowed, recklessly. "Save Trevison--that's all I ask. Tell me what you heard. " "Corrigan suspects Trevison of blowing up the stuff at the butte--aseverybody does, of course. He's determined to get evidence against him. Hefound Carson's pipe at the door of the dynamite shed this morning. Carsonis a friend of Trevison's. Corrigan is going to have Judge Lindman issue awarrant for the arrest of Carson--on some charge--and they're going tojail Carson until he talks. " The woman cursed profanely, sharply. "That's Corrigan's idea of a squaredeal. He promised me that no harm should come to Trevison. " She got up andwalked back and forth in the room, Braman watching her with passion lyingnaked in his eyes, his lips loose and moist. She stopped in front of him, finally. "Go home, Croft--there's a good boy. I want to think. " "That's cruelty to animals, " he laughed in a strained voice. "But I'llgo, " he added at signs of displeasure on her face. "Can I see you tomorrownight?" "I'll let you know. " She held the door open for him, and permitted him totake her hand for an instant. He squeezed it hotly, the woman making agrimace of repugnance as she closed the door. Swiftly she changed from her loose gown to a simple, short-skirted affair, slipped on boots, a felt hat, gloves. Leaving the light burning, sheslipped out into the hall and called to the waiter who had served her andBraman. By rewarding him generously she procured a horse, and a fewminutes later she emerged from the building by a rear door, mounting theanimal and sending it clattering out into the night. Twice she lost her way and rode miles before she recovered her sense ofdirection, and when she finally pulled the beast to a halt at the edge ofthe Diamond K ranchhouse gallery, midnight was not far away. Theranchhouse was dark. She smothered a gasp of disappointment as she crossedthe gallery floor. She was about to hammer on the door when it swung openand Trevison stepped out, peered closely at her and laughed shortly. "It's you, eh?" he said. "I thought I told you--" She winced at his tone, but it did not lessen her concern for him. "It isn't that, Trev! And I don't care how you treat me--I deserve it! ButI can't see them punish you--for what you did last night!" She felt himstart, his muscles stiffen. "Something has turned up, then. You came to warn me? What is it?" "You were seen last night! They're going to arrest--" "So she squealed, did she?" he interrupted. He laughed lowly, bitterly, with a vibrant disappointment that wrung the woman's heart with sympathy. But her brain quickly grasped the significance of his words, and longingdulled her sense of honor. It was too good an opportunity to miss. "Bah! Iexpected it. She told me she would. I was a fool to dream otherwise!" Heturned on Hester and grasped her by the shoulders, and her flesh deadenedunder his fingers. "Did she tell Corrigan?" "Yes. " The woman told the lie courageously, looking straight into hiseyes, though she shrank at the fire that came into them as he released herand laughed. "Where did you get your information?" His voice was suddenly sullen andcold. "From Braman. " He started, and laughed in humorous derision. "Braman and Corrigan are blood brothers in this deal. You must havecaptivated the little sneak completely to make him lose his head likethat!" "I did it for you, Trev--for you. Don't you see? Oh, I despise the littlebeast! But he dropped a hint one day when I was in the bank, and Ideliberately snared him, hoping I might be able to gain information thatwould benefit you. And I have, Trev!" she added, trembling with a hopethat his hasty judgment might result to her advantage. And how near shehad come to mentioning Carson's name! If Trevison had waited for justanother second before interrupting her! Fortune had played favorably intoher hands tonight! "For you, boy, " she said, slipping close to him, sinuously, whispering, knowing the "she" he had mentioned _must_ be Rosalind Benham. "Old friendsare best, boy. At least they can be depended upon not to betray one. Trev;let me help you! I can, and I will! Why, I love you, Trev! And you needme, to help you fight these people who are trying to ruin you!" "You don't understand. " Trevison's voice was cold and passionless. "Itseems I can't _make_ you understand. I'm grateful for what you have donefor me tonight--very grateful. But I can't live a lie, woman. I don't loveyou!" "But you love a woman who has delivered you into the hands of yourenemies, " she moaned. "I can't help it, " he declared hoarsely. "I don't deny it. I would loveher if she sent me to the gallows, and stood there, watching me die!" The woman bowed her head, and dropped her hands listlessly to her sides. In this instant she was thinking almost the same words that RosalindBenham had murmured on her ride to Blakeley's, when she had discoveredTrevison's identity: "I wonder if Hester Keyes knows what she hasmissed. " CHAPTER XXII A MAN ERRS--AND PAYS For a time Trevison stood on the gallery, watching the woman as she fadedinto the darkness toward Manti, and then he laughed mirthlessly and wentinto the house, emerging with a rifle and saddle. A few minutes later herode Nigger out of the corral and headed him southwestward. Shortly aftermidnight he was at the door of Levins' cabin. The latter grinned withfeline humor after they held a short conference. "That's right, " he said; "you don't need any of the boys to help you pull_that_ off--they'd mebbe go to actin' foolish an' give the whole snapaway. Besides, I'm a heap tickled to be let in on that sort of ajamboree!" There followed an interval, during which his grin faded. "Soshe peached on you, eh? She told my woman she wouldn't. That's a woman, ain't it? How's a man to tell about 'em?" "That's a secret of my own that I am not ready to let you in on. Don'ttell your wife where you are going _tonight_. " "I ain't reckonin' to. I'll be with you in a jiffy!" He vanished into thecabin, reappeared, ran to the stable, and rode out to meet Trevison. Together they were swallowed up by the plains. At eight o'clock in the morning Corrigan came out of the dining-room ofhis hotel and stopped at the cigar counter. He filled his case, lit one, and stood for a moment with an elbow on the glass of the show case, smoking thoughtfully. "That was quite an accident you had at your mine. Have you any idea whodid it?" asked the clerk, watching him furtively. Corrigan glanced at the man, his lips curling. "You might guess, " he said through his teeth. "That fellow Trevison is a bad actor, " continued the clerk. "And say, " hewent on, confidentially; "not that I want to make you feel bad, but themajority of the people of this town are standing with him in this deal. They think you are not giving the land-owners a square deal. Not that I'm'knocking' _you_, " the clerk denied, flushing at the dark look Corriganthrew him. "That's merely what I hear. Personally, I'm for you. This townneeds men like you, and it can get along without fellows like Trevison. " "Thank you, " smiled Corrigan, disgusted with the man, but feeling that itmight be well to cultivate such ingratiating interest. "Have a cigar. " "I'll go you. Yes, sir, " he added, when he had got the weed going; "thistown can get along without any Trevisons. These sagebrush rummies out heregive me a pain. What this country needs is less brute force and morebrains!" He drew his shoulders erect as though convinced that he was notlacking in the particular virtue to which he had referred. "You are right, " smiled Corrigan, mildly. "Brains are all important. Ahotel clerk must be well supplied. I presume you see and hear a great manythings that other people miss seeing and hearing. " Corrigan thought thisthermometer of public opinion might have other information. "You've said it! We've got to keep our wits about us. There's very littleescapes us. " He leered at Corrigan's profile. "That's a swell Moll innumber eleven, ain't it?" "What do you know about her?" Corrigan's face was inexpressive. "Oh say now!" The clerk guffawed close to Corrigan's ear without makingthe big man wink an eyelash. "You don't mean to tell me that you ain't_on_! I saw you steer to her room one night--the night she came here. Andonce or twice, since. But of course us hotel clerks don't see anything!She is down on the register as Mrs. Harvey. But say! You don't see anymarried women running around the country dressed like her!" "She may be a widow. " "Well, yes, maybe she might. But she shows speed, don't she?" Hewhispered. "You're a pretty good friend of mine, now, and maybe if I'dgive you a tip you'd throw something in my way later on--eh?" "What?" "Oh, you might start a hotel here--or something. And I'm thinking ofblowing this joint. This town's booming, and it can stand a swell hotel ina few months. " "You're on--if I build a hotel. Shoot!" The clerk leaned closer, whispering: "She receives other men. You're notthe only one. " "Who?" The clerk laughed, and made a funnel of one hand. "The banker across thestreet--Braman. " Corrigan bit his cigar in two, and slowly spat that which was left in hismouth into a cuspidor. He contrived to smile, though it cost him aneffort, and his hands were clenched. "How many times has he been here?" "Oh, several. " "When was he here last?" "Last night. " The clerk laughed. "Looked half stewed when he left. Kindahectic, too. Him and her must have had a tiff, for he left early. Andafter he'd gone--right away after--she sent one of the waiters out for ahorse. " "Which way did she go?" "West--I watched her; she went the back way, from here. " Corrigan smiled and went out. The expression of his face was such as tocause the clerk to mutter, dazedly: "He didn't seem to be a whole lotinterested. I guess I must have sized him up wrong. " Corrigan stopped at his office in the bank, nodding curtly to Braman. Shortly afterward he got up and went to the courthouse. He had orderedJudge Lindman to issue a warrant for Carson the previous morning, and hadintended to see that it was served. But a press of other matters hadoccupied his attention until late in the night. He tried the front door of the courthouse, to find it locked. The reardoor was also locked. He tried the windows--all were fastened securely. Thinking the Judge still sleeping he went back to his office and spent anhour going over some correspondence. At the end of that time he visitedthe courthouse again. Angered, he went around to the side and burst theflimsy door in, standing in the opening, glowering, for the Judge's cotwas empty, and the Judge nowhere to be seen. Corrigan stalked through the building, cursing. He examined the cot, anddiscovered that it had been slept in. The Judge must have risen early. Obviously, there was nothing to do but to wait. Corrigan did that, impatiently. For a long time he sat in the chair at his desk, watchingBraman, studying him, scowling, rage in his heart. "If he's up to anydirty work, I'll choke him until his tongue hangs out a yard!" was amental threat that he repeated many times. "But he's just mush-headed overthe woman, I guess--he's that kind of a fool!" At ten o'clock Corrigan jumped on his horse and rode out to the buttewhere the laborers were working, clearing away the debris from theexplosion. No one there had seen Judge Lindman. Corrigan rode back totown, fuming with rage. Finding some of the deputies he sent them out tosearch for the Judge. One by one they came in and reported their failure. At six-thirty, after the arrival of the evening train from Dry Bottom, Corrigan was sitting at his desk, his face black with wrath, reading forthe third or fourth time a letter that he had spread out on the deskbefore him: "MR. JEFFERSON CORRIGAN: "I feel it is necessary for me to take a short rest. Recent excitement in Manti has left me very nervous and unstrung. I shall be away from Manti for about two weeks, I think. During my absence any pending litigation must be postponed, of course. " The letter was signed by Judge Lindman, and postmarked "Dry Bottom. " Corrigan got up after a while and stuffed the letter into a pocket. Hewent out, and when he returned, Braman had gone out also--to supper, Corrigan surmised. When the banker came in an hour later, Corrigan wasstill seated at his desk. The banker smiled at him, and Corrigan motionedto him. Corrigan's voice was silky. "Where were you last night, Braman?" The banker's face whitened; his thoughts became confused, but instantlycleared when he observed from the expression of the big man's face thatthe question was, apparently, a casual one. But he drew his breathtremulously. One could never be sure of Corrigan. "I spent the night here--in the back room. " "Then you didn't see the Judge last night--or hear him?" "No. " Corrigan drew the Judge's letter from the pocket and passed it over toBraman, watching his face steadily as he read. He saw a quick stain appearin the banker's cheeks, and his own lips tightened. The banker coughed before he spoke. "Wasn't that a rather abruptleave-taking?" "Yes--rather, " said Corrigan, dryly. "You didn't hear him walking aboutduring the night?" "No. " "You're rather a heavy sleeper, eh? There is only a thin board partitionbetween this building and the courthouse. " "He must have left after daylight. Of course, any noise he might have madeafter that I wouldn't have noticed. " "No, of course not, " said Corrigan, passionlessly. "Well--he's gone. " Heseemed to have dismissed the matter from his mind and Braman sighed withrelief. But he watched Corrigan narrowly during the remainder of the timehe stayed in the office, and when he went out, Braman shook a vindictivefist at his back. "Worry, damn you!" he sneered. "I don't know what was in Judge Lindman'smind, but I hope he never comes back! That will help to repay you for thatknockdown!" Corrigan went over to the _Castle_ and ate supper. He was preoccupied anddeliberate, for he was trying to weave a complete fabric out of thethreads of Braman's visits to Hester Harvey; Hester's ride westward, andJudge Lindman's abrupt departure. He had a feeling that they were in someway connected. At a little after seven he finished his meal, went upstairs and knocked atthe door of Hester Harvey's room. He stepped inside when she opened thedoor, and stood, both hands in the pockets of his trousers, looking at herwith a smile of repressed malignance. "Nice night for a ride, wasn't it?" he said, his lips parting a verylittle to allow the words to filter through. The woman flashed a quick, inquiring look at him, saw the passion in hiseyes, the gleam of malevolent antagonism, and she set herself against it. For her talk with Trevison last night had convinced her of the futility ofhope. She had gone out of his life as a commonplace incident slips intothe oblivion of yesteryear. Worse--he had refused to recall it. It hurther, this knowledge--his rebuff. It had aroused cold, wanton passions inher--she had become a woman who did not care. She met Corrigan's gaze witha look of defiant mockery. "Swell. I enjoyed every minute of it. Won't you sit down?" He held himself back, grinning coldly, for the woman's look had goaded himto fury. "No, " he said; "I'll stand. I won't be here a minute. You saw Trevisonlast night, eh? You warned him that I was going to have Carson arrested. "He had hazarded this guess, for it had seemed to him that it must be thesolution to the mystery, and when he caught the quick, triumphant light inthe woman's eyes at his words he knew he had not erred. "Yes, " she said; "I saw him, and I told him--what Braman told me. " She sawhis eyes glitter and she laughed harshly. "That's what you wanted to know, isn't it, Jeff--what Braman told me? Well, you know it. I knew youcouldn't play square with me. You thought you could dupe me--_again_, didn't you? Well, you didn't, for I snared Braman and pumped him dry. He'skept me posted on your movements; and his little board telephone--Ha, ha!that makes you squirm, doesn't it? But it was all wasted effort--Trevisonwon't have me--he's through. And I'm through. I'm not going to try anymore. I'm going back East, after I get rested. You fight it out withTrevison. But I warn you, he'll beat you--and I wish he would! As for thatbeast, Braman, I wish--Ah, let him go, Jeff, " she advised, noting the coldfury in his eyes. "That's all right, " he said with a dry laugh. "You and Braman have donewell. It hasn't done me any harm, and so we'll forget about it. What doyou say to having a drink--and a talk. As in old times, eh?" He seemedsuddenly to have conquered his passion, but the queer twitching of hislips warned the woman, and when he essayed to move toward her, smilingpallidly, she darted to the far side of a stand near the center of theroom, pulled out a drawer, produced a small revolver and leveled it athim, her eyes wide and glittering with menace. "Stay where you are, Jeff!" she ordered. "There's murder in your heart, and I know it. But I don't intend to be the victim. I'll shoot if you comeone step nearer!" He smirked at her, venomously. "All right, " he said. "You're wise. But getout of town on the next train. " "I'll go when I get ready--you can't scare me. Let me alone or I'll go toRosalind Benham and let her in on the whole scheme. " "Yes you will--not, " he laughed. "If I know anything about you, you won'tdo anything that would give Miss Benham to Trevison. " "That's right; I'd rather see her married to you--that would be therefinement of cruelty!" He laughed sneeringly and stepped out of the door. Waiting a short time, the woman heard his step in the hall. Then she darted to the door, lockedit, and leaned against it, panting. "I've done it now, " she murmured. "Braman--Well, it serves him right!" * * * * * Corrigan stopped in the barroom and got a drink. Then he walked to thefront door and stood in it for an instant, finally stepping down into thestreet. Across the street in the banking room he saw a thin streak oflight gleaming through a crevice in the doorway that led from the bankingroom to the rear. The light told him that Braman was in the rear room. Selecting a moment when the street in his vicinity was deserted, Corrigandeliberately crossed, standing for a moment in the shadow of the bankbuilding, looking around him. Then he slipped around the building andtapped cautiously on the rear door. An instant later he was standinginside the room, his back against the door. Braman, arrayed as he had beenthe night before, had opened the door. He had been just ready to go whenhe heard Corrigan's knock. "Going out, Croft?" said Corrigan pleasantly, eyeing the other intently. "All lit up, too! You're getting to be a gay dog, lately. " There was nothing in Corrigan's bantering words to bring on that suddenqualm of sickening fear that seized the banker. He knew it was his guiltthat had done it--guilt and perhaps a dread of Corrigan's rage if he_should_ learn of his duplicity. But that word "lately"! If it had beenuttered with any sort of an accent he might have been suspicious. But ithad come with the bantering ring of the others, with no hint of specialsignificance. And Braman was reassured. "Yes, I'm going out. " He turned to the mirror on the wall. "I'm gettingrather stale, hanging around here so much. " "That's right, Croft. Have a good time. How much money is there in thesafe?" "Two or three thousand dollars. " The banker turned from the glass. "Wantsome? Ha, ha!" he laughed at the other's short nod; "there are other gaydogs, I guess! How much do you want?" "All you've got?" "All! Jehoshaphat! You must have a big deal on tonight!" "Yes, big, " said Corrigan evenly. "Get it. " He followed the banker into the banking room, carefully closing the doorbehind him, so that the light from the rear room could not penetrate. "That's all right, " he reassured the banker as the latter noticed theaction; "this isn't a public matter. " He stuffed his pockets with the money the banker gave him, and when theother tried to close the door of the safe he interposed a restraininghand, laughing: "Leave it open, Croft. It's empty now, and a cracksman trying to get intoit would ruin a perfectly good safe, for nothing. " "That's right. " They went into the rear room again, Corrigan last, closing the door behindhim. Braman went again to the glass, Corrigan standing silently behindhim. Standing before the glass, the banker was seized with a repetition of thesickening fear that had oppressed him at Corrigan's words upon hisentrance. It seemed to him that there was a sinister significance behindCorrigan's present silence. A tension came between them, portentous ofevil. Braman shivered, but the silence held. The banker tried to think ofsomething to say--his thoughts were rioting in chaos, a dumb, paralyzingterror had seized him, his lips stuck together, the facial musclesrefusing their office. He dropped his hands to his sides and stared intothe glass, noting the ghastly pallor that had come over his face--thedull, whitish yellow of muddy marble. He could not turn, his legs werequivering. He knew it was conscience--only that. And yet Corrigan'sominous silence continued. And now he caught his breath with a shudderinggasp, for he saw Corrigan's face reflected in the glass, looking over hisshoulder--a mirthless smirk on it, the eyes cold, and dancing with amerciless and cunning purpose. While he watched, he saw Corrigan's lipsopen: "Where's the board telephone, Braman?" The banker wheeled, then. He tried to scream--the sound died in a gaspinggurgle as Corrigan leaped and throttled him. Later, he fought to loosenthe grip of the iron fingers at his throat, twisting, squirming, threshingabout the room in his agony. The grip held, tightened. When the banker wasquite still Corrigan put out the light, went into the banking room, wherehe scattered the papers and books in the safe all around the room. Then hetwisted the lock off the door, using an iron bar that he had noticed in acorner when he had come in, and stepped out into the shadow of thebuilding. CHAPTER XXIII FIRST PRINCIPLES Judge Lindman shivered, though a merciless, blighting sun beat down on thegreat stone ledge that spread in front of the opening, smothering him withheat waves that eddied in and out, and though the interior of thelow-ceilinged chamber pulsed with the fetid heat sucked in from the plainsgenerations before. The adobe walls, gray-black in the subdued light, weredry as powder and crumbling in spots, the stone floor was exposed in manyplaces; there was a strange, sickening odor, as though the naked, perspiring bodies of inhabitants in ages past had soaked the walls andfloor with the man-scent, and intervening years of disuse had mingledtheir musty breath with it. But for the presence of the serene-faced, steady-eyed young man who leaned carelessly against the wall outside, whose shoulder and profile he could see, the Judge might have yieldedcompletely to the overpowering conviction that he was dreaming, and thathis adventures of the past twelve hours were horrors of his imagination. But he knew from the young man's presence at the door that his experiencehad been real enough, and the knowledge kept his brain out of thethreatening chaos. Some time during the night he had awakened on his cot in the rear room ofthe courthouse to hear a cold, threatening voice warning him to silence. He had recognized the voice, as he had recognized it once before, undersimilar conditions. He had been gagged, his hands tied behind him. Then hehad been lifted, carried outside, placed on the back of a horse, in frontof his captor, and borne away in the darkness. They had ridden many milesbefore the horse came to a halt and he was lifted down. Then he had beenforced to ascend a sharp slope; he could hear the horse clattering upbehind them. But he had not been able to see anything in the darkness, though he felt he was walking along the edge of a cliff. The walk hadended abruptly, when his captor had forced him into his present quarterswith a gruff admonition to sleep. Sleep had come hard, and he had donelittle of it, napping merely, sitting on the stone floor, his back againstthe wall, most of the time watching his captor. He had talked some, askingquestions which his captor ignored. Then a period of oblivion had come, and he had awakened to the sunshine. For an hour he had sat where he was, looking out at his captor and blinking at the brilliant sunshine. But hehad asked no questions since awakening, for he had become convinced of themeaning of all this. But he was intensely curious, now. "Where have you brought me?" he demanded of his jailor. "You're awake, eh?" Trevison grinned as he wheeled and looked in at hisprisoner. "This, " he waved a hand toward the ledge and its surroundings, "is an Indian pueblo, long deserted. It makes an admirable prison, Judge. It is also a sort of a fort. There is only one vulnerable point--the slopewe came up last night. I'll take you on a tour of examination, if youlike. And then you must return here, to stay until you disclose thewhereabouts of the original land record. " The Judge paled, partly from anger, partly from a fear that gripped him. "This is an outrage, Trevison! This is America!" "Is it?" The young man smiled imperturbably. "There have been times duringthe past few weeks when I doubted it, very much. It _is_ America, though, but it is a part of America that the average American sees little of--thathe knows little of. As little, let us say, as he knows of the weirdapplication of its laws--as applied by _some_ judges. " He smiled asLindman winced. "I have given up hoping to secure justice in the regularway, and so we are in the midst of a reversion to first principles--whichmay lead us to our goal. " "What do you mean?" "That I _must_ have the original record, Judge, I mean to have it. " "I deny--" "Yes--of course. Deny, if you like. We shan't argue. Do you want toexplore the place? There will be plenty of time for talk. " He stepped aside as the Judge came out, and grinned broadly as he caughtthe Judge's shrinking look at a rifle he took up as he turned. It had beenpropped against the wall at his side. He swung it to the hollow of hisleft elbow. "Your knowledge of firearms convinces you that you can't runas fast as a rifle bullet, doesn't it, Judge?" The Judge's face indicated that he understood. "Ever make the acquaintance of an Indian pueblo, Judge?" "No. I came West only a year ago, and I have kept pretty close to mywork. " "Well, you'll feel pretty intimate with this one by the time you leaveit--if you're obstinate, " laughed Trevison. He stood still and watched theJudge. The latter was staring hard at his surroundings, perhaps withsomething of the awed reverence that overtakes the tourist when for thefirst time he views an ancient ruin. The pueblo seemed to be nothing more than a jumble of adobe boxes piled inan indiscriminate heap on a gigantic stone level surmounting the crest ofa hill. A sheer rock wall, perhaps a hundred feet in height, descended tothe surrounding slopes; the latter sweeping down to join the plains. Adust, light, dry, and feathery lay thickly on the adobe boxes on thesurrounding ledge on the slopes, like a gray ash sprinkled from a giantsifter. Cactus and yucca dotted the slopes, thorny, lancelike, repellent;lava, dull, hinting of volcanic fire, filled crevices and depressions, andhuge blocks of stone, detached in the progress of disintegration, werescattered about. "It has taken ages for this to happen!" the Judge heard himselfmurmuring. Trevison laughed lowly. "So it has, Judge. Makes you think of your schooldays, doesn't it? You hardly remember it, though. You have a hazy sort ofrecollection of a print of a pueblo in a geography, or in a geologicaltextbook, but at the time you were more interested in Greek roots, theAlps, Louis Quinze, the heroes of mythology, or something equally foreign, and you forgot that your own country might hold something of interest foryou. But the history of these pueblo towns must be pretty interesting, ifone could get at it. All that I have heard of it are some pretty weirdlegends. There can be no doubt, I suppose, that the people who inhabitedthese communal houses had laws to govern them--and judges to apply thelaws. And I presume that then, as now, the judges were swayed by powerfulinfluences in--" The Judge glared at his tormentor. The latter laughed. "It is reasonable to presume, too, " he went on, "that in some cases thejudges rendered some pretty raw decisions. And carrying the suppositionfurther, we may believe that then, as now, the poor downtroddenproletariat got rather hot under the collar. There are always somehot-tempered fools among all classes and races that do, you know. Theysimply can't stand the feel of the iron heel of the oppressor. Can youpicture a hot-tempered fool of that tribe abducting a judge of the courtof his people and carrying him away to some uninhabited place, there tolet him starve until he decided to do the right thing?" "Starve!" gasped the Judge. "The chambers and tunnels connecting these communal houses--they look likemud boxes, don't they, Judge? And there isn't a soul in any of them--nor abite to eat! As I was about to remark, the chambers and tunnels and thepassages connecting these places are pretty bare and cheerless--if weexcept scorpions, horned toads, centipedes, tarantulas--and other equallyundesirable occupants. Not a pleasant place to sojourn in until--How longcan a man live without eating, Judge? You know, of course, that theIndians selected an elevated and isolated site, such as this, because ofits strategical advantages? This makes an ideal fort. Nobody can get intoit except by negotiating the slope we came up last night. And a rifle inthe hands of a man with a yearning to use it would make _that_ approachpretty unsafe, wouldn't it?" "My God!" moaned the Judge; "you talk like a man bereft of his senses!" "Or like a man who is determined not to be robbed of his rights, " addedTrevison. "Well, come along. We won't dwell on such things if they depressyou. " He took the Judge's arm and escorted him. They circled the broad stoneledge. It ran in wide, irregular sweeps in the general outline of a hugecircle, surrounded by the dust-covered slopes melting into the plains, sovast that the eye ached in an effort to comprehend them. Miles away theycould see smoke befouling the blue of the sky. The Judge knew the smokecame from Manti, and he wondered if Corrigan were wondering over hisdisappearance. He mentioned that to Trevison, and the latter grinnedfaintly at him. "I forgot to mention that to you. It was all arranged last night. ClayLevins went to Dry Bottom on a night train. He took with him a letter, which he was to mail at Dry Bottom, explaining your absence to Corrigan. Needless to say, your signature was forged. But I did so good a job thatCorrigan will not suspect. Corrigan will get the letter by tonight. Itsays that you are going to take a long rest. " The Judge gasped and looked quickly at Trevison. The young man's face waswreathed in a significant grin. "In the first analysis, this looks like a rather strange proceeding, " saidTrevison. "But if you get deeper into it you see its logic. You know wherethe original record is. I want it. I mean to have it. One life--a dozenlives--won't stop me. Oh, well, we won't talk about it if you're going toshudder that way. " He led the Judge up a flimsy, rotted ladder to a flat roof, forcing him tolook into a chamber where vermin fled at their appearance. Then throughnumerous passages, low, narrow, reeking with a musty odor that nauseatedthe Judge; on narrow ledges where they had to hug the walls to keep fromfalling, and then into an open court with a stone floor, stained dark, inthe center a huge oblong block of stone, surmounting a pyramid, appallingin its somber suggestiveness. "The sacrificial altar, " said Trevison, grimly. "These stains here, are--" He stopped, for the Judge had turned his back. Trevison led him away. He had to help him down the ladder each time theydescended, and when they reached the chamber from which they had startedthe Judge was white and shaking. Trevison pushed him inside and silently took a position at the door. TheJudge sank to the floor of the chamber, groaning. The hours dragged slowly. Trevison changed his position twice. Once hewent away, but returned in a few minutes with a canteen, from which hedrank, deeply. The Judge had been without food or water since the nightbefore, and thirst tortured him. The gurgle of the water as it came out ofthe canteen, maddened him. "I'd like a drink, Trevison. " "Of course. Any man would. " "May I have one?" "The minute you tell me where that record is. " The Judge subsided. A moment later Trevison's voice floated into thechamber, cold and resonant: "I don't think you're in this thing for money, Judge. Corrigan has somesort of a hold on you. What is it?" The Judge did not answer. The sun climbed to the zenith. It grew intensely hot in the chamber. Twiceduring the afternoon the Judge asked for water, and each time he receivedthe answer he had received before. He did not ask for food, for he felt itwould not be given him. At sundown his captor entered the chamber and gavehim a meager draught from the canteen. Then he withdrew and stood on theledge in front of the door, looking out into the darkening plains, andwatching him, a conviction of the futility of resisting him seized theJudge. He stood framed in the opening of the chamber, the lines of hisbold, strong face prominent in the dusk, the rifle held loosely in thecrook of his left arm, the right hand caressing the stock, his shoulderssquared, his big, lithe, muscular figure suggesting magnificent physicalstrength, as the light in his eyes, the set of his head and the firm linesof his mouth, brought a conviction of rare courage and determination. Thesight of him thrilled the Judge; he made a picture that sent the Judge'sthoughts skittering back to things primitive and heroic. In an earlier daythe Judge had dreamed of being like him, and the knowledge that he hadfallen far short of realizing his ideal made him shiver withself-aversion. He stifled a moan--or tried to and did not succeed, for itreached Trevison's ears and he turned quickly. "Did you call, Judge?" "Yes, yes!" whispered the Judge, hoarsely. "I want--to tell youeverything! I have longed to tell you all along!" An hour later they were sitting on the edge of the ledge, their feetdangling, the abyss below them, the desert stars twinkling coldly abovethem; around them the indescribable solitude of a desert night filled withmystery, its vague, haunting, whispering voice burdened with its age-oldsecrets. Trevison had an arm around the Judge's shoulder. Their voicesmingled--the Judge's low, quavering; Trevison's full, deep, sympathetic. After a while a rider appeared out of the starlit haze of the plains belowthem. The Judge started. Trevison laughed. "It's Clay Levins, Judge. I've been watching him for half an hour. He'llstay here with you while I go after the record. Under the bottom drawer, eh?" Levins hallooed to them. Trevison answered, and he and the Judge walkedforward to meet Levins at the crest of the slope. "Slicker'n a whistle!" declared Levins, answering the question Trevisonput to him. "I mailed the damn letter an' come back on the train thatbrought it to him!" He grinned felinely at the Judge. "I reckon you're aheap dry an' hungry by this time?" "The Judge has feasted, " said Trevison. "I'm going after the record. You're to stay here with the Judge until I return. Then the three of uswill ride to Las Vegas, where we will take a train to Santa Fe, to turnthe record over to the Circuit Court. " "Sounds good!" gloated Levins. "But it's too long around. I'm forsomethin' more direct. Why not take the Judge with you to Manti, get therecord, takin' a bunch of your boys with you--an' salivate that damnedCorrigan an' his deputies!" Trevison laughed softly. "I don't want any violence if I can avoid it. Myland won't run away while we're in Santa Fe. And the Judge doesn't want tomeet Corrigan just now. I don't know that I blame him. " "Where's the record?" Trevison told him, and Levins grumbled. "Corrigan'll have his deputiesguardin' the courthouse, most likely. If you run ag'in 'em, they'll boreyou, sure as hell!" "I'll take care of myself--I promise you that!" he laughed, and the Judgeshuddered at the sound. He vanished into the darkness of the ledge, returning presently with Nigger, led him down the slope, called a low"So-long" to the two watchers on the ledge, and rode away into the haze ofthe plains. Trevison rode fast, filled with a grim elation. He pitied the Judge. Anerror--a momentary weakening of moral courage--had plunged the jurist intothe clutches of Corrigan; he could hardly be held responsible for what hadtranspired--he was a puppet in the hands of an unscrupulous schemer, witha threat of exposure hanging over him. No wonder he feared Corrigan!Trevison's thoughts grew bitter as they dwelt upon the big man; the oldlonging to come into violent physical contact with the other seized him, raged within him, brought a harsh laugh to his lips as he rode. But agreater passion than he felt for the Judge or Corrigan tugged at him as heurged the big black over the plains toward the twinkling lights ofManti--a fierce exultation which centered around Rosalind Benham. She hadduped him, betrayed him to his enemy, had played with him--but she hadlost! Yet the thought of his coming victory over her was poignantlyunsatisfying. He tried to picture her--did picture her--receiving the newsof Corrigan's defeat, and somehow it left him with a feeling of regret. The vengeful delight that he should have felt was absent--he felt sorryfor her. He charged himself with being a fool for yielding to so strange asentiment, but it lingered persistently. It fed his rage against Corrigan, however, doubled it, for upon him lay the blame. It was late when he reached the outskirts of Manti. He halted Nigger inthe shadow of a shed a hundred yards or so down the track from thecourthouse, dismounted and made his way cautiously down the railroadtracks. He was beyond the radius of the lights from various windows thathe passed, but he moved stealthily, not knowing whether Corrigan hadstationed guards about the courthouse, as Levins had warned. An instantafter reaching a point opposite the courthouse he congratulated himself onhis discretion, for he caught a glimmer of light at the edge of a windowshade in the courthouse, saw several indistinct figures congregated at theside door, outside. He slipped behind a tool shed at the side of thetrack, and crouching there, watched and listened. A mumbling of voicesreached him, but he could distinguish no word. But it was evident that themen outside were awaiting the reappearance of one of their number who hadgone into the building. Trevison watched, impatiently. Then presently the side door opened, letting out a flood of light, which bathed the figures of the waiting men. Trevison scowled, for he recognized them as Corrigan's deputies. But hewas not surprised, for he had half expected them to be hanging around thebuilding. Two figures stepped down from the door as he watched, and heknew them for Corrigan and Gieger. Corrigan's voice reached him. "The lock on this door is broken. I had to kick it in this morning. One ofyou stay inside, here. The rest of you scatter and keep your eyes peeled. There's trickery afoot. Judge Lindman didn't go to Dry Bottom--the agentsays he's sure of that because he saw every man that's got aboard a trainhere within the last twenty-four hours--and Judge Lindman wasn't amongthem! Levins was, though; he left on the one-thirty this morning and gotback on the six-o'clock, tonight. " He vanished into the darkness beyondthe door, but called back: "I'll be within call. Don't be afraid to shootif you see anything suspicious!" Trevison saw a man enter the building, and the light was blotted out bythe closing of the door. When his eyes were again accustomed to thedarkness he observed that the men were standing close together--theyseemed to be holding a conference. Then the group split up, three goingtoward the front of the building; two remaining near the side door, andtwo others walking around to the rear. For an instant Trevison regretted that he had not taken Levins' adviceabout forming a posse of his own men to take the courthouse by storm, andhe debated the thought of postponing action. But there was no telling whatmight happen during an interval of delay. In his rage over the discoveryof the trick that had been played on him Corrigan might tear the interiorof the building to pieces. He would be sure to if he suspected thepresence of the original record. Trevison did not go for the help thatwould have been very welcome. Instead, he spent some time twirling thecylinder of his pistol. He grew tired of crouching after a time and lay flat on his stomach in theshadow of the tool shed, watching the men as they tramped back and forth, around the building. He knew that sooner or later there would be a minuteor two of relaxation, and of this he had determined to take advantage. Butit was not until sound in the town had perceptibly decreased in volumethat there was any sign of the men relaxing their vigil. And then he notedthem congregating at the front of the building. "Hell, " he heard one of them say; "what's the use of hittin' that trail_all_ night! Bill's inside, an' we can see the door from here. I'm due fora smoke an' a palaver!" Matches flared up; the sounds of their voicesreached Trevison. Trevison disappointedly relaxed. Then, filled with a sudden decision, heslipped around the back of the tool shed and stole toward the rear of thecourthouse. It projected beyond the rear of the bank building, adjoiningit, forming an L, into the shadow of which Trevison slipped. He stoodthere for an instant, breathing rapidly, undecided. The darkness in theshadow was intense, and he was forced to feel his way along the wall forfear of stumbling. He was leaning heavily on his hands, trusting to themrather than to his footing, when the wall seemed to give way under themand he fell forward, striking on his hands and knees. Fortunately, he hadmade no sound in falling, and he remained in the kneeling position untilhe got an idea of what had happened. He had fallen across the threshold ofa doorway. The door had been unfastened and the pressure of his hands hadforced it inward. It was the rear door of the bank building. He lookedinward, wondering at Braman's carelessness--and stared fixedly straightinto a beam of light that shone through a wedge-shaped crevice between twoboards in the partition that separated the buildings. He got up silently, stepped stealthily into the room, closing the doorbehind him. He tried to fasten it and discovered that the lock was broken. For some time he stood, wondering, and then, giving it up, he made his waycautiously around the room, searching for Braman's cot. He found that, too, empty, and he decided that some one had broken into the buildingduring Braman's absence. Moving away from the cot, he stumbled againstsomething soft and yielding, and his pistol flashed into his hand insinister preparation, for he knew from the feel of the soft object that itwas a body, and he suspected that it was Braman, stalking him. He thoughtthat until he remembered the broken lock, on the door, and then thesignificance of it burst upon him. Whoever had broken the lock had fixedBraman. He knelt swiftly and ran his hands over the prone form, drawingback at last with the low ejaculation: "He's a goner!" He had no time orinclination to speculate over the manner of Braman's death, and madecatlike progress toward the crevice in the partition. Reaching it, hedropped on his hands and knees and peered through. A wooden box on theother side of the partition intervened, but above it he could see the formof the deputy. The man was stretched out in a chair, sideways to thecrevice in the wall, sleeping. A grin of huge satisfaction spread overTrevison's face. His movements were very deliberate and cautious. But in a quarter of anhour he had pulled the board out until an opening was made in thepartition, and then propping the board back with a chair he reachedthrough and slowly shoved the box on the other side back far enough toadmit his body. Crawling through, he rose on the other side, crossed thefloor carefully, kneeled at the drawer where Judge Lindman had concealedthe record, pulled it out and stuck it in the waistband of his trousers, in front, his eyes glittering with exultation. Then he began to backtoward the opening in the partition. At the instant he was preparing tostoop to crawl back into the bank building, the deputy in the chairyawned, stretched and opened his eyes, staring stupidly at him. There wasno mistaking the dancing glitter in Trevison's eyes, no possiblemisinterpretation of his tense, throaty whisper: "One chirp and you're adead one!" And the deputy stiffened in the chair, dumb with astonishmentand terror. The deputy had not seen the opening in the partition, for it was partlyhidden from his view by the box which Trevison had encountered inentering, and before the man had an opportunity to look toward the place, Trevison commanded him again, in a sharp, cold whisper: "Get up and turn your back to me--quick! Any noise and I'll plug you!Move!" The deputy obeyed. Then he received an order to walk to the door withoutlooking back. He readied the door--halted. "Now open it and get out!" The man did as bidden; diving headlong out into the darkness, swinging thedoor shut behind him. His yell to his companions mingled with the roar ofTrevison's pistol as he shattered the kerosene lamp. The bullet hit theneck of the glass bowl, a trifle below the burner, the latter describing aparabola in the air and falling into the ruin of the bowl. The chimneycrashed, the flame from the wick touched the oil and flared upbrilliantly. Trevison was half way through the wall by the time the oil ignited, and hegrinned coldly at the sight. Haste was important now. He slipped throughthe opening, pulled the chair from between the board and wall, letting theboard snap back, and placing the chair against it. He felt certain thatthe deputies would think that in some manner he had run their barricadeand entered the building through the door. He heard voices outside, a fusillade of shots, the tinkle of breakingglass; against the pine boards at his side came the wicked thud ofbullets, the splintering of wood as they tore through the partition andembedded themselves in the outside wall. He ducked low and ran to the reardoor, swinging it open. Braman's body bothered him; he could not leave itthere, knowing the building would soon be in flames. He dragged the bodyoutside, to a point several feet distant from the building, dropping it atlast and standing erect for the first time to fill his lungs and lookabout him. Looking back as he ran down the tracks toward the shed where hehad left Nigger, he saw shadowy forms of men running around thecourthouse, which was now dully illuminated, the light from within dancingfitfully through the window shades. Flaming streaks rent the night fromvarious points--thinking him still in the building the deputies wereshooting through the windows. Manti, rudely awakened, was pouring itspopulation through its doors in streams. Shouts, hoarse, inquisitive, drifted to Trevison's ears. Lights blazed up, flickering from windows likegiant fireflies. Doors slammed, dogs were barking, men were running. Trevison laughed vibrantly as he ran. But his lips closed tightly when hesaw two or three shadowy figures darting toward him, coming from variousdirections--one from across the street; another coming straight down therailroad track, still another advancing from his right. He bowed his headand essayed to pass the first figure. It reached out a hand and graspedhis shoulder, arresting his flight. "What's up?" "Let go, you damned fool!" The man still clung to him. Trevison wrenched himself free and struck, viciously. The man dropped with a startled cry. Another figure was uponTrevison. He wanted no more trouble at that minute. "Hell to pay!" he panted as the second man loomed close to him in thedarkness; "Trevison's in the courthouse!" He heard the other gasp; saw him lunge forward. He struck again, bitterly, and the man went to his knees. He was up again instantly, as Trevison fledinto the darkness, crying resonantly: "This way, boys--here he is!" "Corrigan!" breathed Trevison. He ducked as a flame-spurt split the night;reaching a corner of the shed where he had left his horse as a successionof reports rattled behind him. Corrigan was firing at him. He dared notuse his own pistol, lest its flash reveal his whereabouts, and he knew hewould have no chance against the odds that were against him. Nor was heintent on murder. He flung himself into the saddle, and for the first timesince he had come into Trevison's possession Nigger knew the bite of spursearnestly applied. He snorted, leaped, and plunged forward, the clatter ofhis hoofs bringing lancelike streaks of fire out of the surroundingblackness. Behind him Trevison heard Corrigan raging impotently, profanely. There came another scattering volley. Trevison reeled, caughthimself, and then hung hard to the saddle-horn, as Nigger fled into thenight, running as a coyote runs from the daylight. CHAPTER XXIV ANOTHER WOMAN LIES Shortly before midnight Aunt Agatha Benham laid her book down, took offher glasses, wiped her eyes and yawned. She sat for a time stretched outin her chair, her hands folded in her lap, meditatively looking at theflicker of the kerosene lamp, thinking of the conveniences she had givenup in order to chaperon a wilful girl who did not appreciate her services. It was the selfishness of youth, she decided--nothing less. But stillRosalind might understand what a sacrifice her aunt was making for her. Thrilling with self-pity, she got up, blew out the light and ascended thestairs to her room. She plumped herself in a chair at one of the frontwindows before beginning to undress, that she might again feel thedelicious thrill, for that was the only consolation she got from acontemplation of her sacrifice, Rosalind never offered her a word ofgratitude! The thrill she anticipated was not the one she experienced--it was athrill of apprehension that seized her--for a glowing midnight sky met hergaze as she stared in the direction of Manti, vast, extensive. In itscenter, directly over the town, was a fierce white glare with off-shootsof licking, leaping tongues of flame that reached skyward hungrily. Agatha watched for one startled instant, and then she was in Rosalind'sroom, leaning over the bed, shaking her. The girl got up, dressed in hernight clothes, and together they stood at one of the windows in the girl'sroom, watching. The fierce white center of the fire seemed to expand. "It's a fire--in Manti!" said the girl. "See! Another building has caught!Oh, I _do_ hope they can put it out!" They stood long at the window. Once, when the glow grew more brilliant, the girl exclaimed sharply, but after a time the light began to fade, andshe drew a breath of relief. "They have it under control, " she said. "Well, come to bed, " advised Agatha. "Wait!" said the girl. She pressed her face against the window and peeredintently into the darkness. Then she threw up the sash, stuck her head outand listened. She drew back, her face slowly whitening. "Some one is coming, Aunty--and riding very fast!" A premonition of tragedy, associated with the fire, had seized the girl ather first glimpse of the light, though she had said nothing. Theappearance of a rider, approaching the house at breakneck speed had addedstrength to her fears, and now, driven by the urge of apprehension thathad seized her she flitted out of the room before Agatha could restrainher, and was down in the sitting-room in an instant, applying a match tothe lamp. As the light flared up she heard the thunder of hoofs justoutside the door, and she ran to it, throwing it open. She shrank back, drawing her breath gaspingly, for the rider had dismounted and steppedtoward her, into the dim light of the open doorway. "You!" she said. A low laugh was her answer, and Trevison stepped over the threshold andclosed the door behind him. From the foot of the stairs Agatha saw him, and she stood, nerveless and shaking with dread over the picture he made. He had been more than forty-eight hours without sleep, the storm-center ofaction had left its impression on him, and his face was gaunt and haggard, with great, dark hollows under his eyes. The three or four days' growth ofbeard accentuated the bold lines of his chin and jaw; his eyes weredancing with the fires of passion; he held a Winchester rifle under hisright arm, the left, hanging limply at his side, was stained darkly. Heswayed as he stood looking at the girl, and smiled with faint derision atthe naked fear and wonder that had leaped into her eyes. But the derisionwas tinged with bitterness, for this girl with both hands pressed over herbreast, heaving with the mingled emotions of modesty and dismay, was oneof the chief factors in the scheme to rob him. The knowledge hurt himworse than the bullet which had passed through his arm. She had beenuppermost in his thoughts during his reckless ride from Manti, and hewould have cheerfully given his land, his ten years of labor, for theassurance that she was innocent. But he knew guilt when he saw it, andproof of it had been in her avoidance of him, in her ride to saveCorrigan's mining machinery, in her subsequent telling of his presence atthe butte on the night of the dynamiting, in her bitter declaration thathe ought to be punished for it. The case against her was strong. And yeton his ride from Manti he had been irresistibly drawn toward the Bar Branchhouse. He had told himself as he rode that the impulse to visit herthis night was strong within him because on his way to the pueblo he wasforced to pass the house, but he knew better--he had lied to himself. Hewanted to talk with her again; he wanted to show her the land record, which proved her fiance's guilt; he wanted to watch her as she looked atthe record, to learn from her face--what he might find there. He stood the rifle against the wall near the door, while the girl and heraunt watched him, breathlessly. His voice was vibrant and hoarse, but wellunder control, and he smiled with straight lips as he set the rifle downand drew the record from his waistband. "I've something to show you, Miss Benham. I couldn't pass the housewithout letting you know what has happened. " He opened the book andstepped to her side, swinging his left hand up, the index fingerindicating a page on which his name appeared. "Look!" he said, sharply, and watched her face closely. He saw her cheeksblanch, and set his lips grimly. "Why, " she said, after she had hurriedly scanned the page; "it seems toprove your title! But this is a court record, isn't it?" She examined thegilt lettering on the back of the volume, and looked up at him with wide, luminous eyes. "Where did you get that book?" "From the courthouse. " "Why, I thought people weren't permitted to take court records--" "I've taken this one, " he laughed. She looked at the blood on his hand, shudderingly. "Why, " she said;"there's been violence! The fire, the blood on your hand, the record, yourride here--What does it mean?" "It means that I've been denied my rights, and I've taken them. Is thereany crime in that? Look here!" He took another step and stood looking downat her. "I'm not saying anything about Corrigan. You know what we think ofeach other, and we'll fight it out, man to man. But the fact that a womanis engaged to one man doesn't bar another man from the game. And I'm inthis game to the finish. And even if I don't get you I don't want you tobe mixed up in these schemes and plots--you're too good a girl for that!" "What do you mean?" She stiffened, looking scornfully at him, her chinheld high, outraged innocence in her manner. His cold grin of frankdisbelief roused her to furious indignation. What right had he to questionher integrity to make such speeches to her after his disgraceful affairwith Hester Harvey? "I do not care to discuss the matter with you!" she said, her lips stiff. "Ha, ha!" The bitter derision in his laugh made her blood riot withhatred. He walked toward the door and took up the rifle, dimly rememberingshe had used the same words to him once before, when he had met her as shehad been riding toward Manti. Of course she wouldn't discuss such athing--he had been a blind fool to think she would. But it proved herguilt. Swinging the rifle under his arm, he opened the door, turned whenon the threshold and bowed to her. "I'm sorry I troubled you, Miss Benham, " he said. He essayed to turn, staggered, looked vacantly around the room, his lips in a queerly coldhalf-smile, and then without uttering a sound pitched forward, oneshoulder against the door jamb, and slid slowly to his knees, where herested, his head sinking limply to his chest. He heard the girl cry outsharply and he raised his head with an effort and smiled reassuringly ather, and when he felt her hands on his arm, trying to lift him, he laughedaloud in self-derision and got to his feet, hanging to the door jamb. "I'm sorry, Miss Benham, " he mumbled. "I lost some blood, I suppose. Rotten luck, isn't it. I shouldn't have stopped. " He turned to go, lurchedforward and would have fallen out of the door had not the girl seized andsteadied him. He did not resist when she dragged him into the room and closed the door, but he waved her away when she tried to take his arm and lead him towardthe kitchen where, she insisted, she would prepare a stimulant and foodfor him. He tottered after her, tall and gaunt, his big, lithe figurestrangely slack, his head rocking, the room whirling around him. He hadheld to the record and the rifle; the latter by the muzzle, dragging itafter him, the record under his arm. But his marvelous constitution, a result of his clean living and outdoorlife, responded quickly to the stimulation of food and hot drinks, and inhalf an hour he got up, still a little weak, but with some color in hischeeks, and shame-facedly thanked the girl. He realized now, that heshould not have come here; the past few hours loomed in his thoughts likea wild nightmare in which he had lost his sense of proportion, yielding tothe elemental passions that had been aroused in his long, sleeplessstruggle, making him act upon impulses that he would have frownedcontemptuously away in a normal frame of mind. "I've been nearly crazy, I think, " he said to the girl with a wan smile ofself-accusation. "I want you to forget what I said. " "What happened at Manti?" she demanded, ignoring his words. He laughed at the recollection, tucking his rifle under his arm, preparatory to leaving. "I went after the record. I got it. There was afight. But I got away. " "But the fire!" "I was forced to smash a lamp in the courthouse. The wick fell into theoil, and I couldn't delay to--" "Was anybody hurt--besides you?" "Braman's dead. " The girl gasped and shrank from him, and he saw that shebelieved he had killed the banker, and he was about to deny the crime whenAgatha's voice shrilled through the doorway: "There are some men coming, Rosalind!" And then, vindictively: "I presumethey are desperadoes--too!" "Deputies!" said Trevison. The girl clasped her hands over her breast indismay, which changed to terror when she saw Trevison stiffen and leaptoward the door. She was afraid for him, horrified over this secondlawless deed, dumb with doubt and indecision--and she didn't want them tocatch him! He opened the door, paused on the threshold and smiled at her withstraight, hard lips. "Braman was--" "Go!" she cried in a frenzy of anxiety; "go!" He laughed mockingly, and looked at her intently. "I suppose I will neverunderstand women. You are my enemy, and yet you give me food and drink andare eager to have me escape your accomplice. Don't you know that thisrecord will ruin him?" "Go, go!" she panted. "Well, you're a puzzle!" he said. She saw him leap into the saddle, andshe ran to the lamp, blew out the flame, and returned to the open door, inwhich she stood for a long time, listening to rapid hoof beats thatgradually receded. Before they died out entirely there came the sound ofmany others, growing in volume and drawing nearer, and she beat her handstogether, murmuring: "Run, Nigger--run, run, run!" * * * * * She closed the door as the hoof beats sounded in the yard, locking it andretreating to the foot of the stairs, where Agatha stood. "What does it all mean?" asked the elder woman. She was trembling. "Oh, I don't know, " whispered the girl, gulping hard to keep her voicefrom breaking. "It's something about Trevison's land. And I'm afraid, Aunty, that there is something terribly wrong. Mr. Corrigan says itbelongs to him, and the court in Manti has decided in his favor. Butaccording to the record in Trevison's possession, _he_ has a clear titleto it. " "There, there, " consoled Agatha; "your father wouldn't permit--" "No, no!" said the girl, vehemently; "he wouldn't. But I can't understandwhy Trevison fights so hard if--if he is in the wrong!" "He is a desperado, my dear; a wild, reckless spirit who has no regard forlaw and order. Of course, if these men are after him, you will tell themhe was here!" "No!" said the girl, sharply; "I shan't!" "Perhaps you shouldn't, " acquiesced Agatha. She patted the girl'sshoulder. "Maybe it would be for the best, dear--he may be in the right. And I think I understand why you went riding with him so much, dear. Hemay be wild and reckless, but he's a man--every inch of him!" The girl squeezed her relative's hand and went to open the door, uponwhich had come a loud knock. Corrigan stood framed in the opening. Shecould see his face only dimly. "There's no occasion for alarm, Miss Benham, " he said, and she felt thathe could see her better than she could see him, and thus must havediscerned something of her emotion. "I must apologize for this noisydemonstration. I believe I'm a little excited, though. Has Trevison passedhere within the last hour or so?" "No, " she said, firmly. He laughed shortly. "Well, we'll get him. I've split my men up--some havegone to his ranch, the others have headed for Levins' place. " "What has happened?" "Enough. Judge Lindman disappeared--the supposition is that he wasabducted. I placed some men around the courthouse, to safeguard therecords, and Trevison broke in and set fire to the place. He also robbedthe safe in the bank, and killed Braman--choked him to death. A mostrevolting murder. I'm sorry I disturbed you--good night. " The girl closed the door as he left it, and leaned against it, weak andshaking. Corrigan's voice had a curious note in it. He had told her he wassorry to have disturbed her, but the words had not rung true--there hadbeen too much satisfaction in them. What was she to believe from thisnight's events? One thought leaped vividly above the others that rioted inher mind: Trevison had again sinned against the law, and this time hiscrime was murder! She shrank away from the door and joined Agatha at thefoot of the stairs. "Aunty, " she sobbed; "I want to go away. I want to go back East, away fromthis lawlessness and confusion!" "There, there, dear, " soothed Agatha. "I am sure everything will come outall right. But Trevison _does_ look to be the sort of a man who wouldabduct a judge, doesn't he? If I were a girl, and felt that he were inlove with me, I'd be mighty careful--" "That he wouldn't abduct you?" laughed the girl, tremulously, cheered bythe change in her relative's manner. "No, " said Agatha, slyly. "I'd be mighty careful that he _got_ me!" "Oh!" said the girl, and buried her face in her aunt's shoulder. CHAPTER XXV IN THE DARK Trevison faced the darkness between him and the pueblo with a wild hopepulsing through his veins. Rosalind Benham had had an opportunity todeliver him into the hands of his enemy and she had not taken advantage ofit. There was but one interpretation that he might place upon her failureto aid her accomplice. She declined to take an active part in the scheme. She had been passive, content to watch while Corrigan did the real work. Possibly she had no conception of the enormity of the crime. She had beeneager to have Corrigan win, and influenced by her affection and hisarguments she had done what she could without actually committing herselfto the robbery. It was a charitable explanation, and had many flaws, buthe clung to it persistently, nurturing it with his hopes and his hungerfor her, building it up until it became a structure of logic firmly fixedand impregnable. Women were easily influenced--that had been hisexperience with them--he was forced to accept it as a trait of the sex. Sohe absolved her, his hunger for her in no way sated at the end. His thoughts ran to Corrigan in a riot of rage that pained him like aknife thrust; his lust for vengeance was a savage, bitter-visaged demonthat held him in its clutch and made his temples pound with a yearning toslay. And that, of course, would have to be the end. For the enmity thatlay between them was not a thing to be settled by the law--it was a man toman struggle that could be settled in only one way--by the passions, naked, elemental, eternal. He saw it coming; he leaped to meet it, eagerly. Every stride the black horse made shortened by that much the journey hehad resolved upon, and Nigger never ran as he was running now. The blackseemed to feel that he was on the last lap of a race that had lasted formore than forty-eight hours, with short intervals of rest between, and hedid his best without faltering. Order had come out of the chaos of plot and counterplot; Trevison's coursewas to be as direct as his hatred. He would go to the pueblo, take JudgeLindman and the record to Santa Fe, and then return to Manti for a lastmeeting with Corrigan. A late moon, rising from a cleft in some distant mountains, bathed theplains with a silvery flood when horse and rider reached a point within amile of the pueblo, and Nigger covered the remainder of the distance at apace that made the night air drum in Trevison's ears. The big black slowedas he came to a section of broken country surrounding the ancient city, but he got through it quickly and skirted the sand slopes, taking thesteep acclivity leading to the ledge of the pueblo in a dozen catlikeleaps and coming to a halt in the shadow of an adobe house, heavingdeeply, his rider flung himself out of the saddle and ran along the ledgeto the door of the chamber where he had imprisoned Judge Lindman. Trevison could see no sign of the Judge or Levins. The ledge was bare, aglow, the openings of the communal houses facing it loomed dark, like thedoors of tombs. A ghastly, unearthly silence greeted Trevison's call afterthe echoes died away; the upper tier of adobe boxes seemed to nod inghostly derision as his gaze swept them. There was no sound, no movement, except the regular cough of his own laboring lungs, and the rustle of hisclothing as his chest swelled and deflated with the effort. He exclaimedimpatiently and retraced his steps, peering into recesses between thecommunal houses, certain that the Judge and Levins had fallen asleep inhis absence. He turned at a corner and in a dark angle almost stumbledover Levins. He was lying on his stomach, his right arm under his head, his face turned sideways. Trevison thought at first that he was asleep andprodded him gently with the toe of his boot. A groan smote his ears and hekneeled quickly, turning Levins over. Something damp and warm met hisfingers as he seized the man by the shoulder, and he drew the hand awayquickly, exclaiming sharply as he noted the stain on it. His exclamation brought Levins' eyes open, and he stared upward, stupidlyat first, then with a bright gaze of comprehension. He struggled and satup, swaying from side to side. "They got the Judge, 'Brand'--they run him off, with my cayuse!" "Who got him?" "I ain't reckonin' to know. Some of Corrigan's scum, most likely--I didn'tsee 'em close. " "How long ago?" "Not a hell of a while. Mebbe fifteen or twenty minutes. I been missin' alot of time, I reckon. Can't have been long, though. " "Which way did they go?" "Off towards Manti. Two of 'em took him. The rest is layin' low somewhere, most likely. Watch out they don't get _you_! I ain't seen 'em run off, yet!" "How did it happen?" "I ain't got it clear in my head, yet. Just happened, I reckon. The Judgewas settin' on the ledge just in front of the dobie house you had him in. I was moseyin' along the edge, tryin' to figger out what a light in thesky off towards Manti meant. I couldn't figger it out--what in hell wasit, anyway?" "The courthouse burned--maybe the bank. " Levins chuckled. "You got the record, then. " "Yes. " "An' I've lost the Judge! Ain't I a box-head, though!" "That's all right. Go ahead. What happened?" "I was moseyin along the ledge. Just when I got to the slope where we comeup--passin' it--I seen a bunch of guys, on horses, coming out of theshadow of an angle, down there. I hadn't seen 'em before. I knowedsomethin' was up an' I turned, to light out for shelter. An' just then oneof 'em burns me in the back--with a rifle bullet. It couldn't have been nosix, from that distance. It took the starch out of me, an' I caved, Ireckon, for a little while. When I woke up the Judge was gone. The moonhad just come up an' I seen him ridin' away on my cayuse, between twoother guys. I reckon I must have gone off again, when you shook me. " Helaughed, weakly. "What gets _me_, is where them other guys went, after thetwo sloped with the Judge. If they'd have been hangin' around they'd surehave got _you_, comin' up here, wouldn't they?" Trevison's answer was a hoarse exclamation. He swung Levins up and borehim into one of the communal houses, whose opening faced away from theplains and the activity. Then he ran to where he had left Nigger, leadingthe animal back into the zig-zag passages, pulling his rifle out of thesaddle holster and stationing himself in the shadow of the house in whichhe had taken Levins. "They've come back, eh?" the wounded man's voice floated out to him. "Yes--five or six of them. No--eight! They've got sharp eyes, too!" headded stepping back as a rifle bullet droned over his head, chipping achunk of adobe from the roof of the box in whose shelter he stood. * * * * * Sullenly, Corrigan had returned to Manti with the deputies that hadaccompanied him to the Bar B. He had half expected to find Trevison at theranchhouse, for he had watched him when he had ridden away and he seemedto have been headed in that direction. Jealousy dwelt darkly in the bigman's heart, and he had found his reason for the suspicion there. Hethought he knew truth when he saw it, and he would have sworn that truthshone from Rosalind Benham's eyes when she had told him that she had notseen Trevison pass that way. He had not known that what he took for thetruth was the cleverest bit of acting the girl had ever been called uponto do. He had decided that Trevison had swung off the Bar B trailsomewhere between Manti and the ranchhouse, and he led his deputies backto town, content to permit his men to continue the search for Trevison, for he was convinced that the latter's visit to the courthouse hadresulted in disappointment, for he had faith in Judge Lindman'sdeclaration that he had destroyed the record. He had accused himself manytimes for his lack of caution in not being present when the record hadbeen destroyed, but regrets had become impotent and futile. Reaching Manti, he dispersed his deputies and sought his bed in the_Castle_. He had not been in bed more than an hour when an attendant ofthe hotel called to him through the door that a man named Gieger wanted totalk with him, below. He dressed and went down to the street, to findGieger and another deputy sitting on their horses in front of the hotelwith Judge Lindman, drooping from his long vigil, between them. Corrigan grinned scornfully at the Judge. "Clever, eh?" he sneered. He spoke softly, for the dawn was not far away, and he knew that a voice carries resonantly at that hour. "I don't understand you!" Judicial dignity sat sadly on the Judge; he wastired and haggard, and his voice was a weak treble. "If you mean--" "I'll show you what I mean. " Corrigan motioned to the deputies. "Bring himalong!" Leading the way he took them through Manti's back door across arailroad spur to a shanty beside the track which the engineer in charge ofthe dam occasionally occupied when his duty compelled him to check uparriving material and supplies. Because plans and other valuable paperswere sometimes left in the shed it was stoutly built, covered withcorrugated iron, and the windows barred with iron, prison-like. Reachingthe shed, Corrigan unlocked the door, shoved the Judge inside, closed thedoor on the Judge's indignant protests, questioned the deputies briefly, gave them orders and then re-entered the shed, closing the door behindhim. He towered over the Judge, who had sunk weakly to a bench. It was pitchdark in the shed, but Corrigan had seen the Judge drop on the bench andknew exactly where he was. "I want the whole story--without any reservations, " said Corrigan, hoarsely; "and I want it quick--as fast as you can talk!" The Judge got up, resenting the other's tone. He had also a half-formedresolution to assert his independence, for he had received certainassurances from Trevison with regard to his past which had impressedhim--and still impressed him. "I refuse to be questioned by you, sir--especially in this manner! I donot purpose to take further--" The Judge felt Corrigan's fingers at his throat, and gasped with horror, throwing up his hands to ward them off, failed, and heard Corrigan's laughas the fingers gripped his throat and held. When the Judge came to, it was with an excruciatingly painful strugglethat left him shrinking and nerveless, lying in a corner, blinking at thelight of a kerosene lamp. Corrigan sat on the edge of a flat-topped deskwatching him with an ugly, appraising, speculative grin. It was as thoughthe man were mentally gambling on his chances to recover from thethrottling. "Well, " he said when the Judge at last struggled and sat up; "how do youlike it? You'll get more if you don't talk fast and straight! Who wrotethat letter, from Dry Bottom?" Neither judicial dignity or resolutions of independence could resist thethreatened danger of further violence that shone from Corrigan's eyes, andthe Judge whispered gaspingly: "Trevison. " "I thought so! Now, be careful how you answer this. What did Trevison wantin the courthouse?" "The original record of the land transfers. " "Did he get it?" Corrigan's voice was dangerously even, and the Judgesquirmed and coughed before he spoke the hesitating word that was anadmission of his deception: "I told him--where--it was. " Paralyzed with fear, the Judge watched Corrigan slip off the desk andapproach him. He got to his feet and raised his hands to shield his throatas the big man stopped in front of him. "Don't, Corrigan--don't, for God's sake!" "Bah!" said the big man. He struck, venomously. An instant later he putout the light and stepped down into the gray dawn, locking the door of theshanty behind him and not looking back. CHAPTER XXVI THE ASHES Rosalind Benham got up with the dawn and looked out of a window towardManti. She had not slept. She stood at the window for some time and thenreturned to the bed and sat on its edge, staring thoughtfully downward. She could not get Trevison out of her mind. It seemed to her that a crisishad come and that it was imperative for her to reach a decision--topronounce judgment. She was trying to do this calmly; she was trying tokeep sentiment from prejudicing her. She found it difficult whenconsidering Trevison, but when she arrayed Hester Harvey against herlonging for the man she found that her scorn helped her to achieve amental balance that permitted her to think of him almost dispassionately. She became a mere onlooker, with a calm, clear vision. In this rôle sheweighed him. His deeds, his manner, his claims, she arrayed againstCorrigan and his counter-claims and ambitions, and was surprised todiscover that were she to be called upon to pass judgment on the basis ofthis surface evidence she would have decided in favor of Trevison. She hadfought against that, for it was a tacit admission that her father was insome way connected with Corrigan's scheme, but she admitted it finally, with a pulse of repugnance, and when she placed Levins' story on themental balance, with the knowledge that she had seen the record whichseemed to prove the contention of fraud in the land transaction, theevidence favored Trevison overwhelmingly. She got up and began to dress, her lips set with determination. Corriganhad held her off once with plausible explanations, but she would notpermit him to do so again. She intended to place the matter before herfather. Justice must be done. Before she had half finished dressing sheheard a rustle and turned to see Agatha standing in the doorway connectingtheir rooms. "What is it, dear?" "I can't stand the suspense any longer, Aunty. There is something verywrong about that land business. I am going to telegraph to father aboutit. " "I was going to ask you to do that, dear. It seems to me that that youngTrevison is too much in earnest to be fighting for something that does notbelong to him. If ever there was honesty in a man's face it was in hisface last night. I don't believe for a minute that your father isconcerned in Corrigan's schemes--if there are schemes. But it won't do anyharm to learn what your father thinks about it. My dear--" she stepped tothe girl and placed an arm around her waist "--last night as I watchedTrevison, he reminded me of a--a very dear friend that I once knew. I sawthe wreck of my own romance, my dear. He was just such a man asTrevison--reckless, impulsive, and impetuous--dare-devil who would nottolerate injustice or oppression. They wouldn't let me have him, my dear, and I never would have another man. He went away, joined the army, and waskilled at the battle of Kenesaw Mountain. I have kept his memory fresh inmy heart, and last night when I looked at Trevison it seemed to me that hemust be the reincarnation of the only man I ever loved. There must besomething terribly wrong to make him act the way he does, my dear. And heloves you. " The girl bit her lips to repress the swelling emotions which clamored inwild response to this sympathetic understanding. She looked at Agatha, tosee tears in her eyes, and she wheeled impulsively and threw her armsaround the other's neck. "Oh, I know exactly how you feel, Aunty. But--" she gulped "--he doesn'tlove me. " "I saw it in his eyes, my dear. " Agatha's smile was tender andreminiscent. "Don't you worry. He will find a way to let you know--as hewill find a way to beat Corrigan--if Corrigan is trying to defraud him!He's that kind, my dear!" In spite of her aunt's assurances the girl's heart was heavy as she beganher ride to Manti. Trevison might love her, --she had read that it waspossible for a man to love two women--but she could never return his love, knowing of his affair with Hester. He should have justice, however, ifthey were trying to defraud him of his rights! Long before she reached Manti she saw the train from Dry Bottom, due atManti at six o'clock, gliding over the plains toward the town, and whenshe arrived at the station its passengers had been swallowed by Manti'sbuildings and the station agent and an assistant were dragging and bumpingtrunks and boxes over the station platform. The agent bowed deferentially to her and followed her into the telegraphroom, clicking her message over the wires as soon as she had written it. When he had finished he wheeled his chair and grinned at her. "See the courthouse and the bank?" She had--all that was left of them--black, charred ruins with two ironsafes, red from their baptism of fire, standing among them. Also two otherbuildings, one on each side of the two that had been destroyed, scorchedand warped, but otherwise undamaged. "Come pretty near burning the whole town. It took _some_ work to confine_that_ fire--coal oil. Trevison did a clean job. Robbed the safe in thebank. Killed Braman--guzzled him. An awful complete job, from Trevison'sviewpoint. The town's riled, and I wouldn't give a plugged cent forTrevison's chances. He's sloped. Desperate character--I always thoughthe'd rip things loose--give him time. It was him blowed up Corrigan'smine. I ain't seen Corrigan since last night, but I heard him and twentyor thirty deputies are on Trevison's trail. I hope they get him. " Hesquinted at her. "There's trouble brewing in this town, Miss Benham. Iwouldn't advise you to stay here any longer than is _absolutely_necessary. There's two factions--looks like. It's about that land deal. Lefingwell and some more of them think they've been given a raw decisionby the court and Corrigan. Excitement! Oh, Lord! This town is fierce. Iain't had any sleep in--Your answer? I can't tell. Mebbe right away. Mebbein an hour. " Rosalind went out upon the platform. The agent's words had revived ahorror that she had almost forgotten--that she wanted to forget--themurder of Braman. She walked to the edge of the station platform, tortured by thoughts inwhich she could find no excuse for Trevison. Murderer and robber! Afugitive from justice--the very justice he had been demanding! Herthoughts made her weak and sick, and she stepped down from the platformand walked up the track, halting beside a shed and leaning against it. Across the street from her was the _Castle_ hotel. A man in boots, corduroy trousers, and a flannel shirt and dirty white apron, his sleevesrolled to the elbows, was washing the front windows and spitting streamsof tobacco juice on the board walk. She shivered. A grocer next to thehotel was adjusting a swinging shelf affixed to the store-front, preparatory to piling his wares upon it; a lean-faced man standing in adoorway in the building adjoining the grocery was inspecting a six-shooterthat he had removed from the holster at his side. Rosalind shivered again. Civilization and outlawry were strangely mingled here. She would not havebeen surprised to see the lean-faced man begin to shoot at the others. Filled with sudden trepidation she took a step away from the shed, intending to return to the station and wait for her answer. As she moved she heard a low moan. She started, paling, and then stoodstock still, trembling with dread, but determined not to run. The soundcame again, seeming to issue from the interior of the shed, and sheretraced her step and leaned again against the wall of the building, listening. There was no mistaking the sound--someone was in trouble. But she wantedto be certain before calling for help and she listened again to hear anunmistakable pounding on the wall near her, and a voice, callingfrenziedly: "Help, help--for God's sake!" Her fears fled and she sprang to the door, finding it locked. She rattledit, impotently, and then left it and ran across the street to where thewindow-washer stood. He wheeled and spat copiously, almost in her face, asshe rapidly told him her news, and then deliberately dropped his brush andcloth into the dust and mud at his feet and jumped after her, across thestreet. "Who's in here?" demanded the man, hammering on the door. "It's I--Judge Lindman! Open the door! Hurry! I'm smothering--and hurt!" In what transpired within the next few minutes--and indeed during thehours following--the girl felt like an outsider. No one paid any attentionto her; she was shoved, jostled, buffeted, by the crowd that gathered, swarming from all directions. But she was intensely interested. It seemed to her that every person in Manti gathered in front of theshed--that all had heard of the abduction of the Judge. Some one securedan iron bar and battered the lock off the door; a half-dozen men draggedthe Judge out, and he stood in front of the building, swaying in the handsof his supporters, his white hair disheveled, his lips blood-stained andsmashed, where Corrigan had hit him. The frenzy of terror held him, and helooked wildly around at the tiers of faces confronting him, the cords ofhis neck standing out and writhing spasmodically. Twice he opened his lipsto speak, but each time his words died in a dry gasp. At the third efforthe shrieked: "I--I want protection! Don't let him touch me again, men! He means to killme! Don't let him touch me! I--I've been attacked--choked--knockedinsensible! I appeal to you as American citizens for protection!" It was fear, stark, naked, cringing, that the crowd saw. Faces blanched, bodies stiffened; a concerted breath, like a sigh, rose into the flat, desert air. Rosalind clenched her hands and stood rigid, thrilling withpity. "Who done it?" A dozen voices asked the question. "Corrigan!" The Judge screamed this, hysterically. "He is a thief and ascoundrel, men! He has plundered this county! He has prostituted yourcourt. Your judge, too! I admit it. But I ask your mercy, men! I wasforced into it! He threatened me! He falsified the land records! He wantedme to destroy the original record, but I didn't--I told Trevison where itwas--I hid it! And because I wouldn't help Corrigan to rob you, he triedto kill me!" A murmur, low, guttural, vindictive, rippled over the crowd, which had nowswelled to such proportions that the street could not hold it. It fringedthe railroad track; men were packed against the buildings surrounding theshed; they shoved, jostled and squirmed in an effort to get closer to theJudge. The windows of the _Castle_ hotel were filled with faces, amongwhich Rosalind saw Hester Harvey's, ashen, her eyes aglow. The Judge's words had stabbed Rosalind--each like a separate knife-thrust;they had plunged her into a mental vacuum in which her brain, atrophied, reeled, paralyzed. She staggered--a man caught her, muttered somethingabout there being too much excitement for a lady, and gruffly orderedothers to clear the way that he might lead her out of the jam. Sheresisted, for she was determined to stay to hear the Judge to the end, andthe man grinned hugely at her; and to escape the glances that she couldfeel were directed at her she slipped through the crowd and sought thefront of the shed, leaning against it, weakly. A silence had followed the murmur that had run over the crowd. There was abreathless period, during which every man seemed to be waiting for hisneighbor to take the initiative. They wanted a leader. And he appeared, presently--a big, broad-shouldered man forced his way through the crowdand halted in front of the Judge. "I reckon we'll protect you, Judge. Just spit out what you got to say. We'll stand by you. Where's Trevison?" "He came to the courthouse last night to get the record. I told him whereit was. He forced me to go with him to an Indian pueblo, and he kept methere yesterday. He left me there last night with Clay Levins, while hecame here to get the record. " "Do you reckon he got it?" "I don't know. But from the way Corrigan acted last night--" "Yes, yes; he got it!" The words shifted the crowd's gaze to Rosalind, swiftly. The girl hadhardly realized that she had spoken. Her senses, paralyzed a minutebefore, had received the electric shock of sympathy from a continued studyof the Judge's face. She saw remorse on it, regret, shame, and the birthof a resolution to make whatever reparation that was within his power, atwhatever cost. It was a weak face, but it was not vicious, and while shehad been standing there she had noted the lines of suffering. It was notuntil the girl felt the gaze of many curious eyes on her that she realizedshe had committed herself, and her cheeks flamed. She set herself to facethe stares; she must go on now. "It's Benham's girl!" she heard a man standing near her whisper hoarsely, and she faced them, her chin held high, a queer joy leaping in her heart. She knew at this minute that her sympathies had been with Trevison allalong; that she had always suspected Corrigan, but had fought against thesuspicion because of the thought that in some way her father might bedragged into the affair. It had been a cowardly attitude, and she was gladthat she had shaken it off. As her brain, under the spur of the suddenexcitement, resumed its function, her thoughts flitted to the agent'sbabble during the time she had been sending the telegram to her father. She talked rapidly, her voice carrying far: "Trevison got the record last night. He stopped at my ranch and showed itto me. I suppose he was going to the pueblo, expecting to meet Levins andLindman there--" "By God!" The big, broad-shouldered man standing at Judge Lindman's sideinterrupted her. He turned and faced the crowd. "We're damned fools, boys--lettin' this thing go on like we have! Corrigan's took his deputiesout, trailin' Trevison, chargin' him with murderin' Braman, when his realpurpose is to get his claws on that record! Trevison's been fightin' ourfight for us, an' we've stood around like a lot of gillies, lettin' him doit! It's likely that a man who'd cook up a deal like the Judge, here, saysCorrigan has, would cook up another, chargin' Trevison with guzzlin' thebanker. I've knowed Trevison a long time, boys, an' I don't believe he'd_guzzle_ anybody--he's too square a man for that!" He stood on his toes, raising his clenched hands, and bringing them down with a sweep of furiousemphasis. The crowd swayed restlessly. Rosalind saw it split apart, men fighting toopen a pathway for a woman. There were shouts of: "Open up, there!" "Letthe lady through!" "Gangway!" "She's got somethin' to say!" And the girlcaught her breath sharply, for she recognized the woman as Hester Harvey. It was some time before Hester reached the broad-shouldered man's side. There was a stain in each of her cheeks, but outwardly, at least, sheshowed none of the excitement that had seized the crowd; her movementswere deliberate and there was a resolute set to her lips. She got through, finally, and halted beside the big man, the crowd closing up behind her. She was swallowed in it, lost to sight. "Lift her up, Lefingwell!" suggested a man on the outer fringe. "If she'sgot anything to say, let us all hear it!" The suggestion was caught up, insistently. "If you ain't got no objections, ma'am, " said the big man. He stooped ather cold smile and swung her to his shoulder. She spoke slowly anddistinctly, though there was a tremor in her voice: [Illustration: "YOU MEN ARE BLIND. CORRIGAN IS A CROOK WHOWILL STOP AT NOTHING. "] "Trevison did not kill Braman--it was Corrigan. Corrigan was in my room inthe _Castle_ last night just after dark. When he left, I watched him frommy window, after putting out the light. He had threatened to kill Braman. I watched him cross the street and go around to the rear of the bankbuilding. There was a light in the rear room of the bank. After a whileBraman and Corrigan entered the banking room. The light from the rear roomshone on them for an instant and I recognized them. They were at the safe. When they went out they left the safe door open. After a while the lightwent out and I saw Corrigan come from around the rear of the building, recross the street and come into the _Castle_. You men are blind. Corriganis a crook who will stop at nothing. If you let him injure Trevison for acrime that Trevison did not commit you deserve to be robbed!" Lefingwell swung her down from his shoulder. "I reckon that cinches it, boys!" he bellowed over the heads of the mennearest him. "There ain't nothin' plainer! If we stand for this we're abunch of cowardly coyotes that ain't fit to look Trevison in the face! I'mgoin' to help him! Who's comin' along?" A chorus of shouts drowned his last words; the crowd was in motion, swift, with definite purpose. It melted, streaming off in all directions, likethe sweep of water from a bursted dam. It broke at the doors of thebuildings; it sought the stables. Men bearing rifles appeared in thestreet, mounting horses and congregating in front of the _Belmont_, whereLefingwell had gone. Other men, on the board sidewalk and in the dust ofthe street, were running, shouting, gesticulating. In an instant the townhad become a bedlam of portentous force; it was the first time in itshistory that the people of Manti had looked with collective vision, andthe girl reeled against the iron wall of the shed, appalled at theresistless power that had been set in motion. On a night when she sat onthe porch of the Bar B ranchhouse she had looked toward Manti, thrilledover a pretty mental fancy. She had thought it all a game--wondrous, joyous, progressive. She had neglected to associate justice with itthen--the inexorable rule of fairness under which every player of the gamemust bow. She brought it into use now, felt the spirit of it, saw the diretragedy that its perversion portended, groaned, and covered her face withher hands. She looked around after a while. She saw Judge Lindman walking across thestreet toward the _Castle_, supported by two other men. A third followed;she did not know him, but Corrigan would have recognized him as the hotelclerk who had grown confidential upon a certain day. The girl heard hisvoice as he followed after the Judge and the others--raucous, vindictive: "We need men like Trevison in this town. We can get along without anyCorrigans. " She heard a voice behind her and she turned, swiftly, to see Hester Harveywalking toward her. She would have avoided the meeting, but she saw thatHester was intent on speaking and she drew herself erect, bowing to herwith cold courtesy as the woman stopped within a step of her and smiled. "You look ready to flop into hysterics, dearie! Won't you come over to myroom with me and have something to brace you up? A cup of tea?" she addedwith a laugh as Rosalind looked quickly at her. She did not seem to noticethe stiffening of the girl's body, but linked her arm within her own andbegan to walk across the street. The girl was racked with emotion over theexcitement of the morning, the dread of impending violence, and halffrantic with anxiety over Trevison's safety. Hester's offense against herseemed vague and far, and very insignificant, relatively. She yearned toexchange confidences with somebody--anybody, and this woman, even thoughshe were what she thought her, had a capacity for feeling, for sympathy. And she was very, very tired of it all. "It was fierce, wasn't it?" said Hester a few minutes later in the privacyof her room, as she balanced her cup and watched Rosalind as the girl ate, hungrily. "These sagebrush rough-necks out here will make Corrigan humphimself to keep out of their way. But he deserves it, the crook!" The girl looked curiously at the other, trying hard to reconcile thevindictiveness of these words and the woman's previous action in givingdamaging testimony against Corrigan, with the significant fact thatCorrigan had been in her room the night before, presumably as a guest. Hester caught the look and laughed. "Yes, dearie, he deserves it. How muchdo you know of what has been going on here?" "Very little, I am afraid. " "Less than that, I suspect. I happen to know considerable, and I am goingto tell you about it. My trip out here has been a sort of a wild-goosechase. I thought I wanted Trevison, but I've discovered I'm not badly hurtby his refusal to resume our old relations. " The girl gasped and almost dropped her cup, setting it down slowlyafterward and staring at her hostess with doubting, fearing, incredulouseyes. "Yes, dearie, " laughed the other, with a trace of embarrassment; "you cantrust your ears on that statement. To make certain, I'll repeat it: I amnot very badly hurt by his refusal to resume our old relations. Do youknow what that means? It means that he turned me down cold, dearie. " "Do you mean--" began the girl, gripping the table edge. "I mean that I lied to you. The night I went over to Trevison's ranch hetold me plainly that he didn't like me one teenie, weenie bit any more. Hewouldn't kiss me, shake my hand, or welcome me in any way. He told me he'dgot over it, the same as he'd got over his measles days--he'd outgrown itand was going to throw himself at the feet of another goddess. Oh, yes, hemeant you!" she laughed, her voice a little too high, perhaps, with an oddnote of bitterness in it. "Then, determined to blot my rival out, I liedabout you. I told him that you loved Corrigan and that you were in thegame to rob him of his land. Oh, I blackened you, dearie! It hurt him, too. For when a man like Trevison loves a woman--" "How could you!" said the girl, shuddering. "Please don't get dramatic, " jeered the other. "The rules that govern thelove game are very elastic--for some women. I played it strong, but therewas no chance for me from the beginning. Trevison thinks you areCorrigan's trump card in this game. It _is_ a game, isn't it. But he lovesyou in spite of it all. He told me he'd go to the gallows for you. Aren'tmen the sillies! But just the same, dearie, we women like to hear themmurmur those little heroic things, don't we? It was on the night I toldhim you'd told Corrigan about the dynamiting. " "Oh!" said the girl. "That was my high card, " laughed the woman, harshly. "He took it andderided me. I decided right then that I wouldn't play any more. " "Then he didn't send for you?" "Corrigan did that, dearie. " "You--you knew Corrigan before--before you came here?" "You _can_ guess intelligently, can't you?" "Corrigan planned it _all_?" "All. " Hester watched as the girl bowed her head and sobbed convulsively. "What a brazen, crafty and unprincipled _thing_ Trevison must think me!" Hester reached out a hand and laid it on the girl's. "I--there was a timewhen I would have done murder to have him think of me as he thinks of you, dearie. He isn't for me, though, and I can't spoil any woman's happiness. There's little enough--but I'm not going to philosophize. I was going awaywithout telling you this. I don't know why I am telling it now. I alwayswas a little soft. But if you hadn't spoken as you did a while ago in thatcrowd--taking Trevison's end--I--I think you'd never have known. Somehow, it seemed you deserved him, dearie. And I couldn't bear to--to think ofhim facing any more disappointment. He--he took it so--" The girl looked up, to see the woman's eyes filling with a luminous mist. A quick conception of what this all meant to the woman thrilled the girl. She got up and walked to the woman's side. "I'm _so_ sorry, Hester, " shesaid as her arms stole around the other's neck. * * * * * She went out a little later, into the glaring, shimmering sunlight of themorning, her cheeks red, her eyes aglow, her heart racing wildly, to seean engine and a luxurious private car just pulling from the main track toa switch. "Oh, " she whispered, joyously; "it's father's!" And she ran toward it, tingling with a new-found hope. In her room at the _Castle_ sat a woman who was finding the world veryempty. It held nothing for her except the sad consolation of repentance. CHAPTER XXVII THE FIGHT "The boss is sure a she-wolf at playin' a lone hand, " growled Barkwell, shortly after dusk, to Jud Weaver, the straw boss. "Seems he thinks hisfriends is delicate ornaments which any use would bust to smithereens. Here's his outfit layin' around, bitin' their finger nails with ongwee an'pinin' away to slivers yearnin' to get into the big meal-lee, an' himracin' an' tearin' around the country fightin' it out by his lonesome. Icall it rank selfishness!" "He sure ought to have give us a chancst to claw the hair outen thatdamned Corrigan feller!" complained Weaver. "In some ways, though, I'msorta glad the damned mine was blew up. 'Firebrand' would have sure gota-hold of her some day, an' then we'd be clawin' at the bowels of theearth instid of galivantin' around on our cayuses like gentlemen. I reckonthings is all for the best. " The two had come in from the river range ostensibly to confer withTrevison regarding their work, but in reality to satisfy their curiosityover Trevison's movements. There was a deep current of concern for himunder their accusations. They had found the ranchhouse dark and deserted. But the office door wasopen and they had entered, prepared supper, ate with a more than ordinarymingling of conversation with their food, and not lighting the lamps hadgone out on the gallery for a smoke. "He ain't done any sleepin' to amount to much in the last forty-eighthours, to my knowin', " remarked Barkwell; "unless he's done his sleepin'on the run--an' that ain't in no ways a comfortable way. He's sure to bedriftin' in here, soon. " "This here country's goin' to hell, certain!" declared Weaver, after anhour of silence. "She's gettin' too eastern an' flighty. Railroads an'dams an' hotels with bath tubs for every six or seven rooms, an'resterawnts with filleedegree palms an' leather chairs an' slick eats iseatin' the gizzard outen her. Railroads is all right in their place--whichis where folks ain't got no cayuses to fork an' therefore has to hoofit--or--or ride the damn railroad. " "Correct!" agreed Barkwell; "she's a-goin' the way Rome went--anBabylone--an' Cincinnati--after I left. She runs to a pussy-cafearistocracy--_an'_ napkins. " "She'll be plumb ruined--follerin' them foreign styles. The Uhmericanpeople ain't got no right to adopt none of them new-fangled notions. "Weaver stared glumly into the darkening plains. They aired their discontent long. Directed at the town it relieved thepressure of their resentment over Trevison's habit of depending uponhimself. For, secretly, both were interested admirers of Manti's growingimportance. Time was measured by their desires. Sometime before midnight Barkwell gotup, yawned and stretched. "Sleep suits me. If 'Firebrand' ain't reckonin' on a guardian, I ain'tsurprisin' him none. He's mighty close-mouthed about his doin's, anyway. " "You're shoutin'. I ain't never seen a man any stingier about hidin' awayhis doin's. He just nacherly hawgs all the trouble. " Weaver got up and sauntered to the far end of the gallery, leaning far outto look toward Manti. His sharp exclamation brought Barkwell leaping tohis side, and they both watched in perplexity a faint glow in the sky inthe direction of the town. It died down as they watched. "Fire--looks like, " Weaver growled. "We're always too late to horn in onany excitement. " "Uh, huh, " grunted Barkwell. He was staring intently at the plains, faintly discernable in the starlight. "There's horses out there, Jud!Three or four, an' they're comin' like hell!" They slipped off the gallery into the shadow of some trees, bothinstinctively feeling of their holsters. Standing thus they waited. The faint beat of hoofs came unmistakably to them. They grew louder, drumming over the hard sand of the plains, and presently four dark figuresloomed out of the night and came plunging toward the gallery. They came toa halt at the gallery edge, and were about to dismount when Barkwell'svoice, cold and truculent, issued from the shadow of the trees: "What's eatin' you guys?" There was a short, pregnant silence, and then one of the men laughed. "Who are you?" He urged his horse forward. But he was brought to a quickhalt when Barkwell's voice came again: "Talk from where you are!" "That goes, " laughed the man. "Trevison here?" "What you wantin' of him?" "Plenty. We're deputies. Trevison burned the courthouse and the banktonight--and killed Braman. We're after him. " "Well, he ain't here. " Barkwell laughed. "Burned the courthouse, did he?An' the bank? An' killed Braman? Well, you got to admit that's a prettygood night's work. An' you're wantin' him!" Barkwell's voice leaped; hespoke in short, snappy, metallic sentences that betrayed passion longrestrained, breaking his self-control. "You're deputies, eh? Corrigan'swhelps! Sneaks! Coyotes! Well, you slope--you hear? When I count three, Idown you! One! Two! Three!" His six-shooter stabbed the darkness at the last word. And at his sideWeaver's pistol barked viciously. But the deputies had started at the word"One, " and though Barkwell, noting the scurrying of their horses, cut thefinal words sharply, the four figures were vague and shadowy when thefirst pistol shot smote the air. Not a report floated back to the ears ofthe two men. They watched, with grim pouts on their lips, until the menvanished in the star haze of the plains. Then Barkwell spoke, raucously: "Well, we've broke in the game, Jud. We're Simon-pure outlaws--like ourboss. I got one of them scum--I seen him grab leather. We'll all get in, now. They're after our boss, eh? Well, damn 'em, we'll show 'em! They'seight of the boys on the south fork. You get 'em, bring 'em here an' getrifles. I'll hit the breeze to the basin an' rustle the others!" He wasrunning at the last word, and presently two horses raced out of the corralgates, clattered past the bunk-house and were swallowed in the vast, blackspace. Half an hour later the entire outfit--twenty men besides Barkwell andWeaver--left the ranchhouse and spread, fan-wise, over the plains west ofManti. * * * * * They lost all sense of time. Several of them had ridden to Manti, making around of the places that were still open, but had returned, with no wordof Trevison. Corrigan had claimed to have seen him. But then, a man toldhis questioner, Corrigan claimed Trevison had choked the banker to death. He could believe both claims, or neither. So far as the man himself wasconcerned, he was not going to commit himself. But if Trevison had donethe job, he'd done it well. The seekers after information rode out ofManti on the run. At some time after midnight the entire outfit wasgrouped near Clay Levins' house. They held a short conference, and then Barkwell rode forward and hammeredon the door of the cabin. "We're wantin' Clay, ma'am, " said Barkwell in answer to the scared inquirythat filtered through the closed door. "It's the Diamond K outfit. " "What do you want him for?" "We was thinkin' that mebbe he'd know where 'Firebrand' is. 'Firebrand' issort of lost, I reckon. " The door flew open and Mrs. Levins, like a pale ghost, appeared in theopening. "Trevison and Clay left here tonight. I didn't look to see whattime. Oh, I hope nothing has happened to them!" They quieted her fears and fled out into the plains again, chargingthemselves with stupidity for not being more diplomatic in dealing withMrs. Levins. During the early hours of the morning they rode again to theDiamond K ranchhouse, thinking that perhaps Trevison had slipped by themand returned. But Trevison had not returned, and the outfit gathered inthe timber near the house in the faint light of the breaking dawn, disgusted, their horses jaded. "It's mighty hard work tryin' to be an outlaw in this damned dude-riddencountry, " wailed the disappointed Weaver. "Outlaws usual have a den or acave or a mountain fastness, or somethin', anyhow--accordin' to all theliterchoor I've read on the subject. If 'Firebrand's' got one, he's mightybashful about mentionin' it. " "Oh, Lord!" exclaimed Barkwell, weakly. "My brains is sure ready for themourners! Where's 'Firebrand'? Why, where would you expect a man to bethat'd burned up a courthouse an' a bank an' salivated a banker? He'd behidin' out, wouldn't he, you mis'able box-head! Would he come driftin'back to the home ranch, an' come out when them damn deputies come along, bowin' an' scrapin' an' sayin': 'I'm here, gentlemen--I've been waitin'for you to come an' try rope on me, so's you'd be sure to get a good fit!'Would he? You're mighty right he--wouldn't! He'd be populatin' that oldpueblo that he's been tellin' me for years would make a good fort!" Hishorse leaped as he drove the spurs in, cruelly, but at the distance of ahundred yards he was not more than a few feet in advance of theothers--and they, disregarding the rules of the game--were trying to passhim. * * * * * "There ain't a bit of sense of takin' any risk, " objected Levins from thesecurity of the communal chamber, as Trevison peered cautiously around acorner of the adobe house. "It'd be just the luck of one of them crittersif they'd pot you. " "I'm not thinking of offering myself as a target for them, " the otherlaughed. "They're still there, " he added a minute later as he stepped intothe chamber. "Them shooting you as they did, without warning, seems toindicate that they've orders to wipe us out, if possible. They'redeputies. I bumped into Corrigan right after I left the bank building, andI suppose he has set them on us. " "I reckon so. Seems it ain't possible, though, " Levins added, doubtfully. "They was here before you come. Your Nigger horse ain't takin' no dust. Ireckon you didn't stop anywheres?" "At the Bar B. " Trevison made this admission with some embarrassment. But Levins did not reproach him--he merely groaned, eloquently. Trevison leaned against the opening of the chamber. His muscles ached; hewas in the grip of a mighty weariness. Nature was protesting against thegreat strain that he had placed upon her. But his jaws set as he felt theflesh of his legs quivering; he grinned the derisive grin of the fighterwhose will and courage outlast his physical strength. He felt a pulse ofcontempt for himself, and mingling with it was a strange elation--thethought that Rosalind Benham had strengthened his failing body, hadprovided it with the fuel necessary to keep it going for hours yet--as itmust. He did not trust himself to yield to his passions as he stoodthere--that might have caused him to grow reckless. He permitted theweariness of his body to soothe his brain; over him stole a great calm. Heassured himself that he could throw it off any time. But he had deceived himself. Nature had almost reached the limit ofeffort, and the inevitable slow reaction was taking place. The tired bodycould be forced on for a while yet, obeying the lethargic impulses of anequally tired brain, but the break would come. At this moment he wasoppressed with a sense of the unreality of it all. The pueblo seemed likean ancient city of his dreams; the adobe houses details of a weirdphantasmagoria; his adventures of the past forty-eight hours a successionof wild imaginings which he now reviewed with a sort of detached interest, as though he had watched them from afar. The moonlight shone on him; he heard Levins exclaim sharply: "Your arm'sbusted, ain't it?" He started, swayed, and caught himself, laughing lowly, guiltily, for herealized that he had almost fallen asleep, standing. He held the arm up tothe moonlight, examining it, dropping it with a deprecatory word. Hesettled against the wall near the opening again. "Hell!" declared Levins, anxiously, "you're all in!" Trevison did not answer. He stole along the outside wall of the adobehouse and peered out into the plains. The men were still where they hadbeen when the shot had been fired, and the sight of them brought a coldgrin to his face. He backed away from the corner, dropped to his stomachand wriggled his way back to the corner, shoving his rifle in front ofhim. He aimed the weapon deliberately, and pulled the trigger. At theflash a smothered cry floated up to him, and he drew back, the thud ofbullets against the adobe walls accompanying him. "That leaves seven, Levins, " he said grimly. "Looks like my trip to SantaFe is off, eh?" he laughed. "Well, I've always had a yearning to bebesieged, and I'll make it mighty interesting for those fellows. Do youthink you can cover that slope, so they can't get up there while I'mreconnoitering? It would be certain death for me to stick my head aroundthat corner again. " At Levins' emphatic affirmative he was helped to the shelter of a recess, from where he had a view of the slope, though himself protected by acorner of one of the houses; placed a rifle in the wounded man's hands, and carrying his own, vanished into one of the dark passages that weavedthrough the pueblo. He went only a short distance. Emerging from an opening in one of theadobe houses he saw a parapet wall, sadly crumpled in spots, facing theplains, and he dropped to his hands and knees and crept toward it, secreting himself behind it and prodding the wall cautiously with thebarrel of his rifle until he found a joint in the stone work where theadobe mud was rotted. He poked the muzzle of the rifle through thecrevice, took careful aim, and had the satisfaction of hearing a savagecurse in the instant following the flash. He threw himself flatimmediately, listening to the spatter and whine of the bullets of thevolley that greeted his shot. They kept it up long--but when there was amomentary cessation he crept back to the entrance of the adobe house, entered, followed another passage and came out on the ledge farther alongthe side of the pueblo. He halted in a dense shadow and looked toward thespot where the men had been. They had vanished. There was nothing to do but to wait, and he sank behind a huge block ofstone in an angle of the ledge, noting with satisfaction that he could seethe slope that he had set Levins to guard. "I'm the boss of this fort if I don't go to sleep, " he told himself grimlyas he stretched out. He lay there, watching, while the moonlight faded, while a gray streak in the east slowly widened, presaging the dawn. Stretched flat, his aching muscles welcoming the support of the cool stoneof the ledge, he had to fight off the drowsiness that assailed him. An hour dragged by. He knew the deputies were watching, no doubt havingseparated to conceal themselves behind convenient boulders that dotted theplains at the foot of the slope. Or perhaps while he had been in thepassages of the pueblo, changing his position, some of them might havestolen to the numerous crags and outcroppings of rock at the base of thepueblo. They might now be massing for a rush up the slope. But he doubtedthey would risk the latter move, for they knew that he must be on thealert, and they had cause to fear his rifle. Once he rested his head on his extended right arm, and the contact was soagreeable that he allowed it to remain there--long. He caught himself intime; in another second he would have been too late. He saw the figure ofa man on the slope a foot or two below the crest. He was flat on hisstomach, no doubt having crept there during the minutes that Trevison hadbeen enjoying his rest, and at the instant Trevison saw him he was raisinghis rifle, directing it at the recess where Levins had been left, onguard. Trevison was wide awake now, and his marksmanship as deadly as ever. Hewaited until the man's rifle came to a level. Then his own weapon spatviciously. The man rose to his knees, reeling. Another rifle cracked--fromthe recess where Levins was concealed, this time--and the man sank to thedust of the slope, rolling over and over until he reached the bottom, where he stretched out and lay prone. There was a shout of rage from asection of rock-strewn level near the foot of the slope, and Trevison'slips curled with satisfaction. The second shot had told him that a fear hehad entertained momentarily was unfounded--Levins was apparently quitealive. He raised himself cautiously, backed away from the rock behind which hehad been concealed, and wheeled, intending to join Levins. A faint soundreached his ears from the plains, and he faced around again, to see agroup of horsemen riding toward the pueblo. They were coming fast, racingahead of a dust cloud, and were perhaps a quarter of a mile distant. ButTrevison knew them, and stepped boldly out to the edge of the stone ledgewaving his hat to them, laughing full-throatedly, his voice vibrating alittle as he spoke: "Good old Barkwell!" * * * * * "That's him!" Barkwell pulled his horse to a sliding halt as he saw the figure on thepueblo, outlined distinctly in the clear white light of the dawn. "He's all right!" he declared to the others as they followed his exampleand drew their beasts down. "Them's some of the scum that's been afterhim, " he added as several horsemen swept around the far side of thepueblo. "It was them we heard shootin'. " The outfit sat silent on theirhorses and watched the men ride over the plains toward another group ofhorsemen that the Diamond K men had observed some time before ridingtoward the pueblo, "Yep!" Barkwell said, now; "that other bunch is deputies, too. It's mightyplain. This bunch rounded up 'Firebrand' an' sent some one back forreinforcements. " He swept the Diamond K outfit with a snarling smile. "They're goin' to need 'em, too! I reckon we'd better wait for them toplay their hand. It's about a stand off in numbers. We don't stand noslack, boys. We're outlawed already, from the ruckus of last night, an' ifthey start anything we've got to wipe 'em out! You heard 'em shootin' atthe boss, an' they ain't no pussy-kitten bunch! I'll do the gassin'--ifthere's any to be done--an' when I draw, you guys do your damnedest!" The outfit set itself to wait. Over on the edge of the pueblo they couldsee Trevison. He was bending over something, and when they saw him stoopand lift the object, heaving it to his shoulder and walking away with it, a sullen murmur ran over the outfit, and lips grew stiff and white withrage. "It's Clay Levins, boys!" said Barkwell. "They've plugged him! Do youreckon we've got to go back to Levins' shack an' tell his wife that we letthem skunks get away after makin' orphants of her kids?" "I'm jumpin'!" shrieked Jud Weaver, his voice coming chokingly withpassion. "I ain't waitin' one damned minute for any palaver! Either themdeputies is wiped out, or I am!" He dug the spurs into his horse, drawinghis six-shooter as the animal leaped. Weaver's horse led the outfit by only three or four jumps, and they sweptover the level like a devastating cyclone, the spiral dust cloud that rosebehind them following them lazily, sucked along by the wind of theirpassing. The group of deputies had halted; they were sitting tense and silent intheir saddles when the Diamond K outfit came up, slowing down as they drewnearer, and halting within ten feet of the others, spreading out in acrude semi-circle, so that each man had an unobstructed view of thedeputies. Barkwell had no chance to talk. Before he could get his breath afterpulling his horse down, Weaver, his six-shooter in hand, its muzzledirected fairly at Gieger, who was slightly in advance of his men, fumedforth: "What in hell do you-all mean by tryin' to herd-ride our boss? Talk fast, you eagle-beaked turkey buzzard, or I salivates you rapid!" The situation was one of intense delicacy. Gieger might have averted thethreatening clash with a judicious use of soft, placating speech. But itpleased him to bluster. "We are deputies, acting under orders from the court. We are after amurderer, and we mean to get him!" he said, coldly. "Deputies! Hell!" Barkwell's voice rose, sharply scornful and mocking. "Deputies! Crooks! Gun-fighters! Pluguglies!" His eyes, bright, alert, gleaming like a bird's, were roving over the faces in the group ofdeputies. "A damn fine bunch of guys to represent the law! There's DakotaDick, there! Tinhorn, rustler! There's Red Classen! Stage robber! An'Pepper Ridgely, a plain, ornery thief! An' Kid Dorgan, a sneakin' killer!An' Buff Keller, an' Andy Watts, an' Pig Mugley, an'--oh, hell! Deputies!Law!----Ah--hah!" One of the men had reached for his holster. Weaver's gun barked twice andthe man pitched limply forward to his horse's neck. Other weapons flashed;the calm of the early morning was rent by the hoarse, guttural cries ofmen in the grip of the blood-lust, the sustained and venomous popping ofpistols, the queer, sodden impact of lead against flesh, the terror-snortsof horses, and the grunts of men, falling heavily. * * * * * A big man in khaki, loping his horse up the slope of an arroyo half a miledistant, started at the sound of the first shot and raced over the crest. He pulled the horse to an abrupt halt as his gaze swept the plains infront of him. He saw riderless horses running frantically away from asmoking blot, he saw the blot streaked with level, white smoke-spurts thatballooned upward quickly; he heard the dull, flat reports that followedthe smoke-spurts. It seemed to be over in an instant. The blot split up, galloping horsesand yelling men burst out of it. The big man had reached the crest of thearroyo at the critical second in which the balance of victory waversuncertainly. With thrusting chin, lips in a hideous pout, and with sullen, blazing eyes, he watched the battle go against him. Fifteen cowboys--hecounted them, deliberately, coldly, despite the rage-mania that had seizedhim--were spurring after eight other men whom he knew for his own. As hewatched he saw two of these tumble from their horses. And at a distance hesaw the loops of ropes swing out to enmesh four more--who were thrown anddragged; he watched darkly as the remaining two raised their hands abovetheir heads. Then his lips came out of their pout and were wreathed in abitter snarl. "Licked!" he muttered. "Twelve put out of business. But there's thirtymore--if the damn fools have come in to town! That's two to one!" Helaughed, wheeled his horse toward Manti, rode a few feet down the slope ofthe arroyo, halted and sat motionless in the saddle, looking back. Hesmiled with cold satisfaction. "Lucky for me that cinch strap broke, " hesaid. * * * * * Trevison was placing Levins' limp form across the saddle on Nigger's backwhen the faint morning breeze bore to his ears the report of Weaver'spistol. A rattling volley followed the first report, and Trevison ledNigger close to the edge of the ledge in time to observe the battle asCorrigan had seen it. He hurried Nigger down the slope, but he had to becareful with his burden. Reaching the level he lifted Levins off, laid himgently on the top of a huge flat rock, and then leaped into the saddle andsent Nigger tearing over the plains toward the scene of the battle. It was over when he arrived. A dozen men were lying in the tall grass. Some were groaning, writhing; others were quiet and motionless. Four orfive of them were arrayed in chaps. His lips grimmed as his gaze sweptthem. He dismounted and went to them, one after another. He stooped longover one. "They've got Weaver, " he heard a voice say. And he started and lookedaround, and seeing no one near, knew it was his own voice that he heard. It was dry and light--as a man's voice might be who has run far and fast. He stood for a while, looking down at Weaver. His brain was reeling, as ithad reeled over on the ledge of the pueblo a few minutes before, when hehad discovered a certain thing. It was not a weakness; it was a surge ofreviving rage, an accession of passion that made his head swim with itspotency, made his muscles swell with a strength that he had not known formany hours. Never in his life had he felt more like crying. His emotionsseared his soul as a white-hot iron sears the flesh; they burned into him, scorching his pity and his impulses of mercy, withering them, blightingthem. He heard himself whining sibilantly, as he had heard boys whine whenfighting, with eagerness and lust for blows. It was the insensate, ragingfury of the fight-madness that had gripped him, and he suddenly yielded toit and raised his head, laughing harshly, with panting, labored breath. Barkwell rode up to him, speaking hoarsely: "We come pretty near wipin''em out, 'Firebrand!'" He looked up at his foreman, and the latter's face blanched. "God!" hesaid. He whispered to a cowboy who had joined him: "The boss is prettynear loco--looks like!" "They've killed Weaver, " muttered Trevison. "He's here. They killed Clay, too--he's down on a rock near the slope. " He laughed, and tightened hisbelt. The record book which he had carried in his waistband all alonginterfered with this work, and he drew it out, throwing it from him. "Claywas worth a thousand of them!" Barkwell got down and seized the book, watching Trevison closely. "Look here, Boss, " he said, as Trevison ran to his horse and threw himselfinto the saddle; "you're bushed, mighty near--" If Trevison heard his first words he had paid no attention to them. Hecould not have heard the last words, for Nigger had lunged forward, running with great, long, catlike leaps in the direction of Manti. "Good God!" yelled Barkwell to some of the men who had ridden up; "thedamn fool is goin' to town! They'll salivate him, sure as hell! Some ofyou stay here--two's enough! The rest of you come along with me!" They were after Trevison within a few seconds, but the black horse was farahead, running without hitch or stumble, as straight toward Manti as hiswilling muscles and his loyal heart could take him. * * * * * Corrigan had seen the black bolt that had rushed toward him out of thespot where the blot had been. He cursed hoarsely and drove the spurs deepinto the flanks of his horse, and the animal, squealing with pain andfury, leaped down the side of the arroyo, crossed the bottom in two orthree bounds and stretched away toward Manti. A cold fear had seized the big man's heart. It made a sweat break out onhis forehead, it caused his hand to tremble as he flung it around to hiship in search of his pistol. He tried to shake the feeling off, but itclung insistently to him, making him catch his breath. His horse was big, rangy, and strong, but he forced it to such a pace during the first mileof the ride that he could feel its muscles quivering under the saddleskirts. And he looked back at the end of the mile, to see the black horseat about the same distance from him; possibly the distance had beenshortened. It seemed to Corrigan that he had never seen a horse thattraveled as smoothly and evenly as the big black, or that ran with aslittle effort. He began to loathe the black with an intensity equaled onlyby that which he felt for his rider. He held his lead for another mile. Glancing back a little later he notedwith a quickening pulse that the distance had been shortened by severalhundred feet, and that the black seemed to be traveling with as littleeffort as ever. Also, for the first time, Corrigan noticed the presence ofother riders, behind Trevison. They were topping a slight rise at theinstant he glanced back, and were at least a mile behind his pursuer. At first, mingled with his fear, Corrigan had felt a slight disgust forhimself in yielding to his sudden panic. He had never been in the habit ofrunning. He had been as proud of his courage as he had been of hiscleverness and his keenness in planning and plotting. It had been hismental boast that in every crisis his nerve was coldest. But now he nurseda vagrant, furtive hope that waiting for him at Manti would be some ofthose men whom he had hired at his own expense to impersonate deputies. The presence of the hope was as inexplicable as the fear that had set himto running from Trevison. Two or three weeks ago he would have faced bothTrevison and his men and brazened it out. But of late a growing dread ofthe man had seized him. Never before had he met a man who refused to bebeaten, or who had fought him as recklessly and relentlessly. He jeered at himself as he rode, telling himself that when Trevison gotnear enough he would stand and have it out with him--for he knew that thefight had narrowed down between them until it was as Trevison had said, man to man--but as he rode his breath came faster, his backward glancesgrew more frequent and fearful, and the cold sweat on his forehead grewclammy. Fear, naked and shameful, had seized him. * * * * * Behind him, lean, gaunt, haggard; seeing nothing but the big man ahead ofhim, feeling nothing but an insane desire to maim or slay him, rode a manwho in forty-eight hours had been transformed from a frank, guileless, plain-speaking human, to a rage-drunken savage--a monomaniac who, as heleaned over Nigger's mane, whispered and whined and mewed, as hisforebears, in some tropical jungle, voiced their passions when they setforth to slay those who had sought to despoil them. CHAPTER XXVIII THE DREGS When the Benham private car came to a stop on the switch, Rosalind swungup the steps and upon the platform just as J. C. , ruddy, smiling andbland, opened the door. She was in his arms in an instant, murmuring herjoy. He stroked her hair, then held her off for a good look at her, andinquired, unctuously: "What are you doing in town so early, my dear?" "Oh!" She hid her face on his shoulder, reluctant to tell him. But sheknew he must be told, and so she steeled herself, stepping back andlooking at him, her heart pounding madly. "Father; these people have discovered that Corrigan has been trying tocheat them!" She would have gone on, but the sickly, ghastly pallor of his facefrightened her. She swayed and leaned against the railing of the platform, a sinking, deadly apprehension gnawing at her, for it seemed from theexpression of J. C. 's face that he had some knowledge of Corrigan'sintentions. But J. C. Had been through too many crises to surrender at thefirst shot in this one. Still he got a good grip on himself before heattempted to answer, and then his voice was low and intoned with casualsurprise: "Trying to cheat them? How, my dear?" "By trying to take their land from them. You had no knowledge of it, Father?" "Who has been saying that?" he demanded, with a fairly good pretense ofrighteous anger. "Nobody. But I thought--I--Oh, thank God!" "Well, well, " he bluffed with faint reproach; "things are coming to apretty pass when one's own daughter is the first to suspect him ofwrong-doing. " "I didn't, Father. I was merely--I don't know what I _did_ think! Therehas been so much excitement! Everything is _so_ upset! They have blown upthe mining machinery, burned the bank and the courthouse; Judge Lindmanwas abducted and found; Braman was killed--choked to death; the Vigilantesare--" "Good God!" Benham interrupted her, staggering back against the rear ofthe coach. "Who has been at the bottom of all this lawlessness?" "Trevison. " He gasped, in spite of the fact that he had suspected what her answerwould be. "Where is Corrigan? Where's Trevison?" He demanded, his hands shaking. "Answer me! Where are they?" "I don't know, " the girl returned, dully. "They say Trevison is hiding ina pueblo not far from the Bar B. And that Corrigan left here early thismorning, with a number of deputies, to try to capture him. And thosemen--" She indicated the horsemen gathered in front of the _Belmont_, whomhe had not seen, "are organizing to go to Trevison's rescue. They havediscovered that Corrigan murdered Braman, though Corrigan accusedTrevison. " J. C. Flattened himself against the rear wall of the coach and looked withhorror upon the armed riders. There were forty or fifty of them now, andothers were joining the group. "Where's Judge Lindman?" he faltered. "Can't this lawlessness be stopped?" "It is only a few minutes ago that Judge Lindman was dragged from a shedinto which he had been forced by Corrigan--after being beaten by him. Hemade a public confession of his part in the attempted fraud, and chargedCorrigan with coercing him. Those men are aroused, Father. I don't knowwhat the end will be, but I am afraid--I'm afraid they'll--" "I shall give the engineer orders to pull my car out of here!" J. C. 'sface was chalky white. "No, no!" cried the girl, sharply. "That would make them think youwere--Don't _run_, Father!" she begged, omitting the word which shedreaded to think might become attached to him should he go away, now thatsome of them had seen him. "We'll stand our ground, Father. If Corriganhas done those things he deserves to be punished!" Her lips, white andstiff, closed firmly. "Yes, yes, " he said; "that's right--we won't run. " But he drew her inside, despite her objections, and from a window they watched the members of theVigilantes gathering, bristling with weapons, a sinister and ominous armof that law which is the dread and horror of the evil-doer. There came a movement, concerted, accompanied by a low rumble as of wavesbreaking on a rocky shore. It brought the girl out of her chair, throughthe door and upon the car platform, where she stood, her hands claspedover her breast, her breath coming gaspingly. His knees knocking together, his face the ashen gray of death, Benham stumbled after her. He did notwant to go; did not care to see this thing--what might happen--what histerror told him _would_ happen; but he was forced out upon the platform bythe sheer urge of a morbid curiosity that there was no denying; it hadlaid hold of his soul, and though he cringed and shivered and tottered, hewent out, standing close to the iron rail, gripping it with hands thatgrew blueish-white around the knuckles; watching with eyes that bulged, his lips twitching over soundless words. For he could not hold himselfguiltless in this thing; it could not have happened had he tempered hissmug complacence with thoughts of justice. He groaned, gibbering, for hestood on the brink at this minute, looking down at the lashing sea ofretribution. The girl paid no attention to him. She was watching the men down thestreet. The concerted movement had come from them. Nearly a hundred riderswere on the move. Lefingwell, huge, grim, led them down the street towardthe private car. For an instant the girl felt a throb of terror, thinkingthat they might have designs on the man who stood at the railing near her, unable to move--for he had the same thought. She murmured thankfully whenthey wheeled, and without looking in her direction loped their horsestoward a wide, vacant space between some buildings, which led out into theplains, and through which she had ridden often when entering Manti. Watching the men, shuddering at the ominous aspect they presented, she sawa tremor run through them--as though they all formed one body. They cameto a sudden stop. She heard a ripple of sound arise from them, amazementand anticipation. And then, as though with preconcerted design, though shehad heard no word spoken, the group divided, splitting asunder with aprecision that deepened the conviction of preconcertedness, rangingthemselves on each side of the open space, leaving it gaping barrenly, unobstructed--a stretch of windrowed alkali dust, deep, light andfeathery. Silence, like a stroke, fell over the town. The girl saw people runningtoward the open space, but they seemed to make no noise--they might havebeen dream people. And then, noting that they all stared in one direction, she looked over their heads. Not more than four or five hundred feet fromthe open space, and heading directly toward it, thundered a rider on atall, strong, rangy horse. The beast's chest was foam-flecked, the whitelather that billowed around its muzzle was stained darkly. But it came onwith heart-breaking effort, giving its rider its all. Behind the firstrider came a second, not more than fifty feet distant from the other, on ablack horse which ran with no effort, seemingly, sliding along with great, smooth undulations, his mighty muscles flowing like living things underhis glossy, somber coat. The girl saw the man on his back leaning forward, a snarling, terriblegrin on his face. She saw the first rider wheel when he reached the edgeof the open space near the waiting Vigilantes, bring his horse to asliding halt and face toward his pursuer. He clawed at a hip pocket, drawing a pistol that flashed in the first rays of the morning sun--itbelched fire and smoke in a continuous stream, seemingly straight at therider of the black horse. One--two--three--four--five--six times! The girlcounted. But the first man's hand wabbled, and the rider of the blackhorse came on like a demon astride a black bolt, a laugh of bitterderision on his lips. The black did not swerve. Straight and true in hisheadlong flight he struck the other horse. They went down in a smother ofdust, the two horses grunting, scrambling and kicking. The girl had seenthe rider of the black horse lunge forward at the instant of impact; hehad thrown himself at the other man as she had seen football playerslaunch themselves at players of the opposition, and they had both reeledout of their saddles to disappear in the smother of dust. Men left the fringe of the living wall flanking the open space and seizedthe two horses, leading them away. The smother drifted, and the girlscreamed at sight of the two raging things that rolled and burrowed in thedeep dust of the street. * * * * * They got up as she watched them, springing apart hesitating for an awfulinstant to sob breath into their lungs; then they rushed together, striking bitter, sledge-hammer blows that sounded like the smashing offlat rocks, falling from a great height, on the surface of water. Sheshrieked once, wildly, beseeching someone to stop them, but no man paidany attention to her cry. They sat on their horses, silent, tense, grim, and she settled into a coma of terror, an icy paralysis gripping her. Sheheard her father muttering incoherently at her side, droning and pulingsomething over and over in a wailing monotone--she caught it after awhile; he was calling upon his God--in an hour that could not have beenwere it not for his own moral flaccidness. The dust under the feet of the fighting men leveled under their shifting, dragging feet; it bore the print of their bodies where they had lain androlled in it; erupting volcanoes belched it heavily upward; it caught andgripped their legs to the ankles, making their movements slow and sodden. This condition favored the larger man. He lashed out a heavy fist thatcaught Trevison full and fair on the jaw, and the latter's face turnedashy white as he sank to his knees. Corrigan stopped to catch his breathbefore he hurled himself forward, and this respite, brief as it was, helped the other to shake off the deadening effect of the blow. He movedhis head slightly as Corrigan swung at it, and the blow missed, its forcepulling the big man off his feet, so that he tumbled headlong over hisadversary. He was up again in a flash though, for he was fresher than hisenemy. They clinched, and stood straining, matching strength againststrength, sheer, without trickery, for the madness of murder was in theheart of one and the desperation of fear in the soul of the other, andthey thought of nothing but to crush and batter and pound. Corrigan's strength was slightly the greater, but it was offset by theother's fury. In the clinch the big man's right hand came up, the heel ofthe palm shoved with malignant ferocity against Trevison's chin. Corrigan's left arm was around Trevison's waist, squeezing it like a vise, and the whole strength of Corrigan's right arm was exerted to force theother's head back. Trevison tried to slip his head sideways to escape thehold, but the effort was fruitless. Changing his tactics, his breathlagging in his throat from the terrible pressure on it, Trevison workedhis right hand into the other's stomach with the force and regularity of apiston rod. The big man writhed under the punishment, dropping his handfrom Trevison's chin to his waist, swung him from his feet and threw himfrom him as a man throws a bag of meal. He was after him before he landed, but the other writhed and wriggled inthe air like a cat, and when the big man reached for him, trying again toclinch, he evaded the arm and landed a crushing blow on the other's chinthat snapped his head back as though it were swung from a hinge, and senthim reeling, to his knees in the dust. The watching girl saw the ring of men around the fighters contract; shesaw Trevison dive headlong at the kneeling man; with fingers working in afury of impotence she swayed at the iron rail, leaning far over it, hereyes strained, her breath bated, constricting her lungs as though a steelband were around them. For she seemed to feel that the end was near. She saw them, locked in each other's embrace, stagger to their feet. Corrigan's head was wabbling. He was trying to hold the other to him thathe might escape the lashing blows that were driven at his head. The girlsaw his hold broken, and as he reeled, catching another blow in the mouth, he swung toward her and she saw that his lips were smashed, the blood fromthem trickling down over his chin. There was a gleam of wild, despairingterror in his eyes--revealing the dawning consciousness of approachingdefeat, complete and terrible. She saw Trevison start another blow, swinging his fist upward from his knee. It landed with a sodden squish onthe big man's jaw. His eyes snapped shut, and he dropped soundlessly, facedown in the dust. For a space Trevison stood, swaying drunkenly, looking down at his beatenenemy. Then he drew himself erect with a mighty effort and swept the crowdwith a glance, the fires of passion still leaping and smoldering in hiseyes. He seemed for the first time to see the Vigilantes, to realize thesignificance of their presence, and as he wheeled slowly his lips partedin a grin of bitter satisfaction. He staggered around the form of hisfallen enemy, his legs bending at the knees, his feet dragging in thedust. It seemed to the girl that he was waiting for Corrigan to get upthat he might resume the fight, and she cried out protestingly. He wheeledat the sound of her voice and faced her, rocking back and forth on hisheels and toes, and the glow of dull astonishment in his eyes told herthat he was now for the first time aware of her presence. He bowed to her, gravely, losing his balance in the effort, reeling weakly to recover it. And then a crush of men blotted him out--the ring of Vigilantes had closedaround him. She saw Barkwell lunging through the press to gain Trevison'sside; she got a glimpse of him a minute later, near Trevison. The streethad become a sea of jostling, shoving men and prancing horses. She wantedto get away--somewhere--to shut this sight from her eyes. For though onehorror was over, another impended. She knew it, but could not move. Avoice boomed hoarsely, commandingly, above the buzz of many others--it wasLefingwell's, and she cringed at the sound of it. There was a concertedmovement; the Vigilantes were shoving the crowd back, clearing a space inthe center. In the cleared space two men were lifting Corrigan to hisfeet. He was reeling in their grasp, his chin on his chest, his facedust-covered, disfigured, streaked with blood. He was conquered, hisspirit broken, and her heart ached with pity for him despite her horrorfor his black deeds. The loop of a rope swung out as she watched; it fellwith a horrible swish over Corrigan's head and was drawn taut, swiftly, and a hoarse roar of approval drowned her shriek. She heard Trevison's voice, muttering in protest, but his words, like hershriek, were lost in the confusion of sound. She saw him fling his armswide, sending Barkwell and another man reeling from him; he reached forthe pistol at his side and leveled it at the crowd. Those nearest himshrank, their faces blank with fear and astonishment. But the man with therope stood firm, as did Lefingwell, grim, his face darkening with wrath. "This is the law actin' here, 'Firebrand, '" he said, his voice level. "You've done your bit, an' you're due to step back an' let justice take ahand. This here skunk has outraged every damned rule of decency an' honor. He's tried to steal all our land; he's corrupted our court, nearly guzzledJudge Lindman to death, killed Braman--an' Barkwell says the bunch ofpluguglies he hired to pose as deputies, has killed Clay Levins an' fouror five of the Diamond K men. That's plenty. We'd admire to give in toyou. We'll do anything else you say. But this has got to be done. " While Lefingwell had been talking two of the Vigilantes had slipped to therear of Trevison. As Lefingwell concluded they leaped. The arms of one manwent around Trevison's neck; the other man lunged low and pinned his armsto his sides, one hand grasping the pistol and wrenching it from his hand. The crowd closed again. The girl saw Corrigan lifted to the back of ahorse, and she shut her eyes and hung dizzily to the railing, while tumultand confusion raged around her. She opened her eyes a little later, to see Barkwell and another manleading Trevison into the front door of the _Castle_. The street aroundthe car was deserted, save for two or three men who were watching hercuriously. She felt her father's arms around her, and she was led into thecar, her knees shaking, her soul sick with the horror of it all. Half an hour later, as she sat at one of the windows, staring stonily outin the shimmering sunlight of the street, she saw some of the Vigilantesreturning. She shrank back from the window, shuddering. CHAPTER XXIX THE CALM The day seemed to endure for an age. Rosalind did not leave the car; shedid not go near her father, shut up alone in his apartment; she atenothing, ignoring the negro attendant when he told her that lunch wasserved, huddled in a chair beside an open window she decided a battle. Shesaw the forces of reason and justice rout the hosts of hatred and crime, and she got up finally, her face pallid, but resolute, secure in theknowledge that she had decided wisely. She pitied Corrigan. Had it beenwithin her power she would have prevented the tragedy. And yet she couldnot blame these people. They were playing the game honestly, and theirpatience had been sadly strained by one player who had persisted inbreaking the rules. He had been swept away by his peers, which was as faira way as any law--any human law--could deal with him. In her own East hewould have paid the same penalty. The method would have been more refined, to be sure; there would have been a long legal squabble, with its tediousdelays, but in the end Corrigan would have paid. There was a retributivejustice for all those who infracted the rules of the game. It had foundCorrigan. At three o'clock in the afternoon she washed her face. The cool waterrefreshed her, and with reviving spirits she combed her hair, brushed thedust from her clothing, and looked into a mirror. There were dark hollowsunder her eyes, a haunting, dreading expression in them. For she could nothelp thinking about what had happened there--down the street where theVigilantes had gone. She dropped listlessly into another chair beside a window, this timefacing the station. She saw her horse, hitched to the rail at the stationplatform, where she had left it that morning. _That_ seemed to have beendays ago! A period of aching calm had succeeded the tumult of the morning. The street was soundless, deserted. Those men who had played leading partsin the tragedy were not now visible. She would have deserted the town too, had it not been for her father. The tragedy had unnerved him, and she muststay with him until he recovered. She had asked the porter about him, andthe latter had reported that he seemed to be asleep. A breeze carried a whisper to her as she sat at the window: "Where's 'Firebrand' now?" said a voice. "Sleepin'. The clerk in the _Castle_ says he's makin' up for lost time. " She did not bother to try to see the owners of the voices; her gaze was onthe plains, far and vast; and the sky, clear, with a pearly shimmer thatdazzled her. She closed her eyes. She could not have told how long sheslept. She awoke to the light touch of the porter, and she saw Trevisonstanding in the open doorway of the car. The dust of the battle had been removed. An admiring barber had workedcarefully over him; a doctor had mended his arm. Except for a noticeablethinness of the face, and a certain drawn expression of the eyes, he wasthe same Trevison who had spoken so frankly to her one day out on theplains when he had taken her into his confidence. In the look that he gaveher now was the same frankness, clouded a little, she thought, by someemotion--which she could not fathom. "I have come to apologize, " he said; "for various unjust thoughts withwhich I have been obsessed. " Before she could reply he had taken two orthree swift steps and was standing over her, and was speaking again, hisvoice vibrant and regretful: "I ought to have known better than tothink--what I did--of you. I have no excuses to make, except that I wasinsane with a fear that my ten years of labor and lonesomeness were to bewasted. I have just had a talk with Hester Harvey, and she has shown mewhat a fool I have been. She--" Rosalind got up, laughing lowly, tremulously. "I talked with Hester thismorning. And I think--" "She told you--" he began, his voice leaping. "Many things. " She looked straight at him, her eyes glowing, but theydrooped under the heat of his. "You don't need to feel elated overit--there were two of us. " She felt that the surge of joy that ran overher would have shown in her face had it not been for a sudden recollectionof what the Vigilantes had done that morning. That recollection paled hercheeks and froze the smile on her lips. He was watching her closely and saw her face harden. A shadow passed overhis own. He thought he could see the hopelessness of staying longer. "Awoman's love, " he said, gloomily, "is a wonderful thing. It clings throughtrouble and tragedy--never faltering. " She looked at him, startled, tryingto solve the enigma of this speech. He laughed, bitterly. "That's whatmakes a woman superior to mere man. Love exalts her. It makes a savage ofa man. I suppose it is 'good-bye. '" He held out a hand to her and she tookit, holding it limply, looking at him in wonderment, her heart heavy withregret. "I wish you luck and happiness, " he said. "Corrigan is a man inspite of--of many faults. You can redeem him; you--" "_Is_ a man!" Her hand tightened on his; he could feel her tremble. "Why--why--I thought--Didn't they--" "Didn't they tell you? The fools!" He laughed derisively. "They let himgo. They knew I wouldn't want it. They did it for me. He went East on thenoon train--quite alive, I assure you. I am glad of it--for your sake. " "For my sake!" Her voice lifted in mingled joy and derision, and both herhands were squeezing his with a pressure that made his blood leap with alonging to possess her. "For _my_ sake!" she repeated, and the emphasismade him gasp and stiffen. "For _your_ sake--for both of us, Trevison! Oh, what fools we were! What fools all people are, not to trust and believe!" "What do you mean?" He drew her toward him, roughly, and held her hands ina grip that made her wince. But she looked straight at him in spite of thepain, her eyes brimming with a promise that he could not mistake. "Can't you _see_?" she said to him, her voice quavering; "_must _ I tellyou?" ZANE GREY'S NOVELS May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. THE MAN OF THE FORESTTHE DESERT OF WHEATTHE U. P. TRAILWILDFIRETHE BORDER LEGIONTHE RAINBOW TRAILTHE HERITAGE OF THE DESERTRIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGETHE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARSTHE LAST OF THE PLAINSMENTHE LONE STAR RANGERDESERT GOLDBETTY ZANE LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS The life story of "Buffalo Bill" by his sister Helen Cody Wetmore, withForeword and conclusion by Zane Grey. ZANE GREY'S BOOKS FOR BOYS KEN WARD IN THE JUNGLETHE YOUNG LION HUNTERTHE YOUNG FORESTERTHE YOUNG PITCHERTHE SHORT STOPTHE RED-HEADED OUTFIELD AND OTHER BASEBALL STORIES Grossett & Dunlap, Publishers, New York EDGAR RICE BURROUGH'S NOVELS May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. TARZAN THE UNTAMED Tells of Tarzan's return to the life of the ape-man in his search forvengeance on those who took from him his wife and home. JUNGLE TALES OF TARZAN Records the many wonderful exploits by which Tarzan proves his right toape kingship. A PRINCESS OF MARS Forty-three million miles from the earth--a succession of the weirdest andmost astounding adventures in fiction. John Carter, American, findshimself on the planet Mars, battling for a beautiful woman, with the GreenMen of Mars, terrible creatures fifteen feet high, mounted on horses likedragons. THE GODS OF MARS Continuing John Carter's adventures on the Planet Mars, in which he doesbattle against the ferocious "plant men, " creatures whose mighty tailsswished their victims to instant death, and defies Issus, the terribleGoddess of Death, whom all Mars worships and reveres. THE WARLORD OF MARS Old acquaintances, made in the two other stories, reappear, Tars Tarkas, Tardos Mors and others. There is a happy ending to the story in the unionof the Warlord, the title conferred upon John Carter, with Dejah Thoris. THUVIA, MAID OF MARS The fourth volume of the series. The story centers around the adventuresof Carthoris, the son of John Carter and Thuvia, daughter of a MartianEmperor. GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK